


Class Protector

by GingerKI



Series: The Slayer's Legacy [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst and Humor, Blood Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 11:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19722949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerKI/pseuds/GingerKI
Summary: Buffy wasn’t sure if she was sensing some major badness brewing or if it was merely the impending awkward of making nice with a bunch of people she hadn’t seen in two decades and who, even back in the day, had merely tolerated her because she kept saving their lives.Either way, the weekend was bound to be a disaster.





	1. I'm where, again?

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> In short, I do not own anything Joss would want and he owns a lot of stuff I do. I'm doing this solely to amuse myself and, maybe on a good day, entertain others. I leave that to them to decide.

**Memorial Day Weekend 2019**

_Going through the motions_

_Losing all my drive_

_I can’t even see_

_If this is really me_

_And I just wanna be_

_Alive_

Buffy awoke with a gasp, bolting upright in bed, the sound of her own mediocre singing voice echoing in her head.

“What the actual…?” she muttered, shaking off her dream… memory… nightmare… whatever.

Scanning the room in the soft light of early morning, it took her a moment to remember where she was. Nicely appointed, cozy even, a marked improvement over the sterile functionality of the corporate chain hotels to which she had grown accustomed. Her eyes fell upon the garment bags hanging on a hook near the door and she remembered where she was and why she was there.

_California. 20 years. Shit._

She flopped back onto the multitudinous fluffy pillows that were a hallmark of places like this and sighed heavily.

The surviving members of the Sunnydale High School Class of 1999 were having a reunion and the presence of the Class Protector had been enthusiastically sought by a classmate Buffy didn’t even remember, but one who’d married well, very well, to a Silicon Valley billionaire. It was she who’d organized this hootenanny on the Central Coast, the site of their graduation being unavailable for a reunion. Extremely unavailable.

The original Sunnydale High hadn’t even survived their graduation day and its permanent replacement hadn’t been open a year when it ended up at the bottom of the massive crater where Sunnydale once stood. Fearing the site was a safety hazard to the throngs of morbidly curious visitors too stupid to heed multiple signs warning “Hazardous,” “Dangerous,” and “No Trespassing,” the State of California had eventually embarked on a multi-billion-dollar project to “fill in the dangerous sink hole created by an unprecedented geological event.” It was now the state’s least-visited state park but the rapidly-returning wildlife seemed to like it, which was cool.

People’s ability to believe what they wanted to believe in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary had not ceased to amaze Buffy, even after years of passing as an “international security expert” in the upper echelons of a global organization that just happened to employ only young women in front line roles. Sort of like a multinational “Charlie’s Angels.” She didn’t for a minute believe that _most_ people were _that_ gullible; they simply _chose_ to believe whatever made it easier for them to get through their day. Not that she could blame them. She’d probably do the same if that were an option available to her. She’d relish the opportunity to _believe_ rather than _know_.

For example, she’d like to believe that Jonathan Levinson, the classmate who had presented her with the award for Class Protector two decades ago, was alive and well and she’d be seeing him in a few hours. She’d like to believe that her dearest frenemy, Cordelia Chase, would also be at the reunion tonight to ridicule her fashion choices. She’d like to believe that her first love, a love she once thought she would not survive because he was Romeo to her Juliet, was really forever, and that he would be there tonight to hold her in his arms on the dance floor. She’d like to believe that she had done right by the _other_ vampire in her life, the one who had entered it trying to kill her on parent-teacher night before becoming her grudging ally then her willing ally and unwanted suitor then her illicit codependent lover then her champion who’d voluntarily endured the torture of ensoulment only to sacrifice himself to free her from the Hellmouth to which she had been duty bound.

But, alas, she _knew_.

She knew that Jonathan had died years ago at the hands of a man who was now one of her closest colleagues and confidantes, that Cordelia had died only a few months after the Hellmouth closed, that Angel had fallen in love with Cordelia at some point prior to her death and was at this moment just a couple hundred miles away in L.A. living a life that Buffy no longer had a place in. She knew that Spike had returned to his un-life a mere 19 days after dusting but had not rushed to be by her side or to even get word to her. Because he hadn’t believed her. Or maybe he had realized that she didn’t really know if she’d believed herself. She also knew that nothing that had transpired between them in the ensuing 16 years had brought clarity to the situation.

She had been so angry the first time she was face-to-face with a resurrected Spike that she had broken his nose. For, like, the 500th time. Then they had fucked for something like 96 hours straight. She had initiated it then run. He hadn’t given chase.

The next time she had been in a committed relationship with a nice, stable, and utterly dependable human male. Spike had blown that apart by confronting and taking her in the fancy rest room of the elegant London restaurant where her devoted human boyfriend had been planning to propose that evening. The act itself had been neither fancy nor elegant but it had left her weak-kneed and panting and, afterwards, Spike had had the nerve to point out that it never would have happened if she hadn’t been looking for an out. She had responded by breaking his nose. Again. At least Michael had been able to get a full refund on the ring.

The third time had been the week of her 30th birthday. In Paris. After a week of jazz, food, wine and sex, so much sex, in so many places, she had flown off to her next work assignment without looking back.

_“Cheers to your 30s, Slayer. Guess I’ll see you around.”_

There had been three encounters since, each following the same pattern. They had come together explosively, she had turned away from him, and he had taken it in his stride. Had these encounters hurt him in any way? By all appearances, no. He had been genuinely happy to see her the next time, no discernible trace of bitterness or heartbreak. Oh, the irony: soulless Spike had worn his heart on his sleeve; she had always known where she stood with him.

_Souled Spike? Not so much._

But, surely, her previous visit to the Golden State a little more than a year ago had changed all that. For she had done the _one_ thing that she _knew_ Spike would _never_ forgive. She had done…

_Angel._

It hadn’t been planned or deliberate, of course, because her love life should be wrapped in that yellow tape they use for accident and crime scenes. It had, in fact, been the result of a spell releasing their inhibitions and judgment that her amazingly, and sometimes terrifyingly, powerful friend had somehow managed to _not_ undo in time.

Some mundanely evil idiot had wanted to unleash Angelus on the world again and seized the opportunity when work had brought Buffy to L.A. Apparently their love story was one for the ages and widely known in the demon community. The surprise twist was that by the time Willow had learned what was afoot and undone the spell, the erstwhile lovers had awakened to an uncomfortable reality and the aforementioned idiot to bitter disappointment.

Leaping from Angel’s bed, Buffy had scrambled to pull a stake from her bag.

“It’s ok, Buffy, it’s me,” Angel had assured, almost apologetically.

“Oh,” she had replied flatly.

_So much for perfect happiness._

While not directly addressing the obvious, Angel had absurdly tried to make it up to Buffy in other ways for _not_ turning into a monster she’d probably have had to kill after having sex with her. Between that and the fact that they just didn’t know each other that well anymore, it had all turned so impossibly awkward that she’d ended up cutting the trip short and springing for a first-class upgrade to avail herself of as much free booze as she could consume on the flight back to London. She doubted the airline broke even on the ticket.

In hindsight, she couldn’t believe how stupidly obvious it was. Barely 17 virginal Buffy had been the key to perfect happiness. A wiser and worldlier Buffy at 37? Meh. Or maybe Angel hadn’t been able to get over the fact that Spike had been there in Angel’s two-decade’s absence. Repeatedly. And while on that topic. Skills. Ok, so it probably wasn’t fair to compare given the widely divergent circumstances and her own role in them. Angel’s curse. Spike had always said that practice makes perfect. But, seriously, besotted teenage Buffy had known _nothing_.

With no intention of sharing this humiliation extraordinaire (which would have made Xander’s Millennium – maybe she would share when he was on his death bed or she was on hers), back in London Buffy had assured everyone that Willow had acted in time and that Angel’s soul was anchored securely in his body. His no-longer-familiar, not-all-it-was-cracked-up-to-be-in-the-idealized-memories-of-him-she’d-clung-to-for-decades body that just didn’t dovetail with hers. Not anymore anyway and certainly not the way…

_Reflection time over! Time to get up!_

As if on cue her phone rang. Dawn’s ringtone. Which was good because anyone else calling this early would probably mean End Times Were Nigh. Again.

“You’re calling to make sure I didn’t bail.”

“And good morning to you too! I know you didn’t. Just wanted the 411 on the resort. Nice?”

“Yeah, sure. I guess.”

“Excuse me a minute, needed to pick myself off the floor after your enthusiasm knocked me over.”

“Hardy har har… Hey, wait, how do you _know_ I didn’t bail? Are you tracking my phone again?” Buffy pulled the phone away from her ear and shook it.

“I know you’re majorly technology challenged but, for like the 10,000th time, shaking the phone will not help!” Dawn shouted into the phone.

Rolling her eyes Buffy moved the phone back to her ear.

“Anyway, I could have just Face Timed you but I didn’t want to risk scarring my retinas if you’d decided to pick some loser up last night.”

“I wouldn’t have picked up!”

“You did last time.”

“Ok, sue me, I forgot.”

“He must have been a real keeper.”

“Are we done? Talking?”

“Grouchy much?”

“This whole stupid thing was _your_ idea. I could have come up with dozens of excuses not to be here.”

“It’s your 20th reunion! Your classmates actually want to see you. Who’da thought? Right? Besides, we need to be in San Francisco next week anyway. It’s all working out too perfectly.”

“Exactly.”

“When did you get so pessimistic?”

“Sometime between the _first_ time I died and…”

“How long are you planning to play _that_ card?”

“Until I meet someone who’s died _four_ times.”

Sighing, Dawn changed the subject. “There should be an envelope by the door. The front desk said they’d drop it overnight.”

Buffy padded over to the door and picked up an envelope that had not been there the night before, opening it as she returned to perch on the edge of the bed.

“Aw, Dawnie, thanks,” she offered, the edge of irritation leaving her voice.

As expert as her sister was at getting her goat, Buffy truly loved Dawn more than her own life. Dawn was good and strong and somehow not nearly as neurotic as Buffy despite the supreme weirdness of her personal history.

“I figured a spa day would relax you and I don’t know anyone who can do their own nails as well as a manicurist except maybe…” Buffy raised an eyebrow.

Clearing her throat Dawn continued, “You’re going to look so hot in your new dress, showing off the anti-aging power of those Slayer genes to your classmates. Get lots of photos! Can’t wait to see who got fat, who went bald!”

“You never really knew these people.”

“Yeah, I know, but you, Xander and Willow did, and I can enjoy the second-hand dish!”

“Honestly, Dawn, not so much. Our high school years weren’t any more normal than yours.”

“Well then, it can be a reunion weekend for the original Scoobies. You’re rarely on the same continent anymore.”

“Reminds me, I need to find out if Xander and Willow have checked in and find their rooms. Neither had arrived when I stopped by the front desk after dinner. Meant to check again but fell asleep. Jet lag.”

“You didn’t patrol? I know you sometimes like to after a long flight to loosen up.”

“No need.” Buffy shrugged. “There’s a perfectly capable slayer here. Two, I think. Wouldn’t want to insult.”

“Well, gotta run. It’s getting late here and I need to start packing before bed because I’m busy the rest of the weekend. See you in a few days.”

“Need me to pick you up at the airport?”

“Nah, I got this. I’ll see you at the Council office on Divisadero on Tuesday morning. Seriously, Buffy, enjoy your weekend. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dawn.”

Buffy flopped back on the bed and dropped her phone beside her. Blinking up at the ceiling she tried to shake the unease she’d been feeling ever since she’d awaken from her golden oldie cemetery serenade. She wasn’t sure if she was sensing some major badness brewing or if it was merely the impending awkward of making nice with a bunch of people she hadn’t seen in two decades and who, even back in the day, had merely tolerated her because she kept saving their lives.

Either way, the weekend was bound to be a disaster.

**TBC**


	2. Slaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics contained herein are from the Spice Girls' "Wannabe."

Buffy’s spa day relaxation had taken an immediate hit as soon as she left the spa and saw the missed call from Xander. Sick twins. Think killer snot monsters from outer space but with more snot, he’d colorfully described while assuring her that as soon as they got in to see the doctor he’d be on his way, albeit solo. Understandably, Maeve didn’t want to leave Jesse and Anya but had given him her blessing to go on without her since her parents were already there anyway to babysit. As of when they’d last spoken an hour earlier he hadn’t even gotten on the road yet for the three-hour drive down from San Jose. Vomit of the projectile variety had been added to the mix of toddler bodily fluids with which he and Maeve were contending and they’d just gotten back from the doctor’s office.

Any remaining relaxation had drained away when Buffy realized she’d missed an earlier call from Willow. Something had come up last minute in her current home base of Lima, Peru so she had pushed back her flight a day, which still would have left her plenty of time to get here except that it pushed her straight into the path of bad weather in Mexico City that had screwed up her connecting flight. Big time. Willow’s flight had just reached cruising altitude when she texted Buffy to update her.

_Couldn’t you like… you know_

_Pretty sure if I disappeared mid-flight_

_it would spark an international incident_

_Not exactly life or death here_

_I know, forget I mentioned it_

_Desperation talking!_

_It’s one night, you’ll be fine_

_Promise to come by when I get in_

_Sorry I don’t get to see the hotness of you in D &G :-(_

_Pix, please!_

_Travel safe, see you later :-/_

Buffy sighed in resignation. In the words of someone she knew, she was well and truly buggered. She would have to face her former classmates alone, tonight anyway, and after deftly avoiding running into anyone at the resort all day until, if things had gone to plan, she’d be surrounded by _real_ friends. Turning back to the mirror she appraised her reflection one last time before heading out to meet her fate.

Messy bun with loose strands framing her face, check. Understated glam makeup, check. Nails perfectly done in Chanel red, check. A gentle spritz of Tom Ford’s _Fucking Fabulous_ on all pulse points, check. Bodycon red floral print Dolce & Gabbana cocktail dress, check. Aquazzura pumps in basic black leather, check. Vintage black enamel cross pendant studded with diamonds and vintage diamond stud earrings, check. Red cylinder wristlet with clear lucite bead handle, check. Kleenex, lipstick, $100 cash, phone and small stake tucked into the wristlet, check.

After spending her high school years and young adulthood risking (and occasionally losing) her life in the perennial battle against evil, free-of-charge, the new and greatly improved Council made sure that Buffy was now adequately compensated for her life’s work which meant that, when the situation called for it, she could opt for _stylish and_ _expensive._ For whatever reason – insecurity or a desire to, God help her, impress these people – she had decided that this situation called for going all in.

She had even acquired new underwear for the occasion although why or for whose benefit she had no idea. Thus far 2019 was proving a romantic dry spell. Hell, it was a full-on drought. Nary an oasis in sight. Fortunately, her tragicomic love life had taught her to adapt. When it came to dating and sex, she was like a camel.

Buffy felt a pang of guilt that she had even raised the prospect of Willow using magic for the sake of convenience. After that disastrous and heartbreaking year, they just didn’t go there. As in ever. She would apologize again in person. In the meantime, she had to go and face the music. Hopefully, she could just quietly slip in and skulk in a corner for a couple hours, make with the small talk (a skill she had finally mastered by way of her professional life… more or less) if she encountered anyone she remembered liking, grab some food and libations, take a couple surreptitious photos of people she hadn’t liked who’d aged badly, and make a clean getaway. Was worth a try.

_* * * *_

“Oh my God, Buffy!”

_So much for quietly slipping in._

A tall blond woman, who had apparently been waiting outside the ballroom for her to arrive, rushed toward her.

_I swear, I have never seen you before in my life._

“Crystal!” she croaked.

“Oh my God!” the woman repeated. “Look at you! You don’t age! And that dress… Dolce & Gabbana?”

Buffy nodded into a shrug. She wasn’t surprised that Crystal knew labels since she was pretty sure that the tech billionaire’s wife with the athletic build was wearing Versace with her tastefully stunning accessories, including a rock on her ring finger that could power an invisibility ray.

Winding her arm through Buffy’s to lead her into the ballroom, Crystal’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to Matt. I don’t think he quite believes me when I tell him about how his badass wife wielded a pickaxe at my high school graduation. You’ll have to vouch for me.”

“Sure…?” Buffy responded tentatively.

_Duh… of course._

Such were the facts of Buffy’s life that the circumstances surrounding her high school graduation barely registered in the catalog of significant events, and hadn’t for a long time. When she thought about it at all, it tended to be in terms of the moment Angel and she had parted ways - for good it turned out. But to anyone living a reasonably sane existence the events of their high school graduation would have been, as Giles would say, worthy of note.

When they entered the ballroom, she noticed Crystal signaling to the DJ who abruptly pulled the plug on Paula Cole’s “I Don’t Want to Wait,” which suited Buffy fine since she’d associated that song with Angel ever since her lame word salad in Sunnydale’s waning hours. What happened next, though, not so much.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the guest of honor has arrived. Sunnydale High School Class of 1999, I present your Class Protector! Let’s give her a hand!”

_Oh no._

Suddenly, every eye in the room was upon her and there was applause.

“Buffy Summers, come on up here and give us a few words.”

_Dawn, you are SO dead._

* * * *

_Oh, how the mighty have fallen._

Buffy Summers. Vampire Slayer. Trainer and motivational figure to a global network of slayers. Stopper of multiple apocalypses. Cheater of death. Three times. Major. Bad. Ass.

Was hiding in a stall in a restroom on the vacant second floor of the conference center with a glass of wine. A big one. The evening’s suckage factor had managed to surpass even her wildest imaginings. Sure, she was better with words now so getting through her remarks had been no problem but then with the small talk – so much small talk, and pictures of kids and dogs and cats and beloved cockatoos and at least one ferret – it seemed as though everyone in the room had wanted to press the flesh with her. And a few of them in an all-too-literal sense.

She had been hit on by no less than four married men, the wife of one of those men and the wife of a female classmate she had remembered fondly. What the hell was up with that? Did people really come to high school reunions to try to play out some long-held teenage fantasy? And where the hell were all these admirers back in high school? Nowhere near her because they were still breathing 20 years on and, if the Owen fiasco had taught her anything, it was that she was a danger to people, particularly in those days when she (mostly) had the Hellmouth to herself. And who was she kidding, she wouldn’t have given any of them the time of day back then, not seriously, because…

_Speaking of holding onto teenage fantasy way too long._

She drained her wine glass and immediately regretted that she hadn’t brought a second with her. And what was with Crystal’s husband, Matt? There was a look in his eye when they’d been introduced that evoked a feeling of unease, a feeling her younger self would have labeled wiggage. Not leering exactly. Maybe just a bit _too_ curious? She was, after all, a curiosity, another facet of her life she’d gotten used to over the years as it had become clear that _her life_ and _normal_ were destined to remain unmixy. Even though she was still racking her brain to place Crystal in any specific high school memory, Buffy couldn’t help but like her. She was, in a word, nice. Genuinely nice. And eminently likable. So, the little voice inside her told her to keep an eye on her classmate’s husband this weekend.

But her immediate objective was finding a discreet way out of there. She’d done enough. Shown her face. Smiled. Talked. And talked. And talked. Hell, if she wasn’t wearing almost $5,000 worth of finery she’d go out the bathroom window and over the roof. Lacking that option, she’d have to explore to see if she could find an alternate exit that would make it possible to get back to her room without drawing any more attention from her classmates. This weekend was going to be a marathon not a sprint. Actually, it was meant to be a relay and she really hoped her partners would be there soon.

“They’d better be,” she muttered then pushed open the stall door. Placing her empty glass on the sink she washed and dried her hands just as Joyce had taught her to do whenever she went into the bathroom for any reason, smoothed her dress and headed out into the corridor.

The dulcet tones of the late 90s continued to waft up from the first floor as Buffy crept down the unlit hallway. About halfway down she heard a sound and stopped to focus a moment then rolled her eyes. Some couple was getting busy in one of the smaller event rooms and she’d be willing to bet her $700 shoes that they hadn’t arrived together. Not that she was in any position to judge when it came to cheating. She shook off the memory before it could take hold again and continued down the corridor when the sounds from the room started to change. No longer amorous, more like frightened, and now joined by something definitely non-human-sounding. _Shit._

_You’ve gotta be kidding me._

She rolled her eyes heavenwards then sighed, turning back to the door while wishing for all the world that there was somebody, anybody, else available to deal with whatever the hell was on the other side of it. But nope. Buffy was Class Protector.

The door was locked because she just wasn’t going to get a break. With a frustrated groan she pulled off her shoes, holding one in each hand as shimmied to hike up her skirt then kicked the door. Fortunately for her, most late 20th Century construction was crap and it gave with little effort. Pushing down her skirt she stepped into the room.

Flipping the light switch next to the door she remarked, “Seriously?!? Aren’t you, like, a minister now?!?”

Her ecclesiastical classmate was on one of a few chairs assembled carelessly in one corner of the room, pants around his ankles, his high school girlfriend astride his lap. Both wore a look of terror she had long grown accustomed to seeing in people’s faces. She’d have kept the pumps she was now holding if Buffy made that bet; their respective spouses were likely downstairs somewhere, perhaps line dancing to Cotton Eye Joe now blaring up the stairwell. Turning her attention to the other side of the room she discovered something nearly as appalling.

_Well that’s… different._

It was a demon, or something, whose entire surface was covered in eyes. Wildly blinking eyes of every possible color. Whatever it was she was sure she’d never seen one before. She’d have remembered that.

“Get out of here!” she ordered to the stunned couple adding, “You might want to pull your pants up first!” then moved into the room to square off with Captain Eyeballs. They quickly zipped and buckled as she gestured for them to move behind her and out of the room, keeping herself between them and the creature as they did.

“Ok, here’s how this is going to go,” she addressed him, her, it.

“You are going to let me kill you quickly without ruining my new dress and I’ll try not to make it hurt. Much. Outfit gets ruined you still die and I’m gonna make sure it hurts. Like a lot.”

The beast blinked. All eyes. In unison.

_Uh-oh._

It charged. She moved, mostly to avoid contact. She really didn’t want to make contact. She really did love her outfit. Damn this thing was fast. And she was _so_ not dressed for this. And just when she thought this stupid evening could not possibly get worse…

_Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want_

_So tell me what you want, what you really really want_

_I’ll tell you want I want, what I really really want_

_So tell me what you want, what you really really want_

_I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna_

_really really really wanna zig-a-zig ah_

“Oh my God, what does that _even_ mean?” Buffy growled as set her shoes and bag on a windowsill then picked up a chair to toss at the eyeball monster. Which only seemed to make it angrier.

“Did Posh even sing? Like _ever?_ I don’t think so and yet she’s rich… famous… married… to… one… of… the… hottest… men… in… the… world,” she continued, pausing between words to duck out of its reach.

“While I…”

She hit the floor and rolled away from him, back toward where she’d left her shoes. Something had occurred to her. She’d prefer to get into her bag but didn’t dare take the time. Standing, she grabbed a shoe then ducked out of his reach again reversing their positions in the room. Peepers was a lumbering sort of thing and seemed to be tiring. Or confused maybe? Definitely slowing down.

“Get to spend my Friday night with you, cutie.”

“So,” she continued breathlessly, blowing a lock of hair out of her face.

“I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want… You! Dead!”

She threw the pump with lethal force and accuracy, the heel hitting the target and lodging in the one small eye in the middle of its head that was all black, no iris.

The demon made a gurgling sound then went down hard on its back.

“Eh,’ Buffy muttered with a grimace at the sight of the heel of her perfect Italian pump impaled in the face of the now-dead… whatever.

She barely had a moment to ponder what to do next when she registered a tingle on the back of her neck. Oh, great, now she had a vampire to fight.

Then the sound of clapping.

And dawning realization.

“Nice work, love.”

**TBC**


	3. Day ending in 'y'

Buffy flicked an errant strand of hair from her face then turned to find him standing in the doorway, his expression a combination of adoring and amused. Those eternal blue eyes issued their perennial offer to dance with hers. She sighed.

_Spike._

Though spoken only in her head his name was like a mantra, draining some of the tension from her body.

“You’re bloody gorgeous, Slayer, you know that. How do you manage to get _more_ bloody gorgeous every time I see you?”

“Where the hell were you ten minutes ago?”

Was all she could think to say in response but by no means _all_ she could _think_. The way he looked – kicking it alluringly old school in black jeans, black tee, red button down, one of the _newish_ Italian leather dusters, Doc Martins, of course - invoked a very specific memory of the exquisite sound he made in his throat when she tongued his nipples.

_Unhelpful, Buffy. You’re standing barefoot in a $3000 dress in front of a dead pile of eyeballs._

“Sorry, love,” he offered with a shrug. “Hardly looks like you needed my help.”

He moved swiftly into the room and around her. Buffy turned to watch as he gracefully swept his duster aside and climbed over the beast to pull her shoe out of its face. She looked away and shuddered at the squishy sucking sound it made.

“Should I even bother to ask what you’re doing here?”

“Be my guest but we should probably see to this first.”

He handed over the extracted shoe, careful to avoid getting eyeball goo on either one of them. She wrinkled her nose but took it. He also handed over her bag and other shoe.

“Got a car, pet?”

“Yeah, a rental I picked up at the airport.”

“Please tell me it’s something with a back seat that folds down.”

She nodded. “An SUV, they always upgrade me because of my status… well, the _first_ time anyway.”

“Good, take a left out the door and there’s an emergency exit end of the hall. Had an alarm but a big bad disabled it.” He winked. She rolled her eyes.

“Bring the car round to the exit.”

“I’m cleaning off my shoe first. I have to stop back at my room anyway to pick up the keys; I wasn’t planning on using the car tonight.”

“Been drinking?”

“Not kitten-poker drinking but I am attending my 20th high school reunion and, so far, this is the least stressful part of the evening. What do _you_ think?”

The scarred eyebrow flying half-mast, he smiled in that way that conveyed _you’re adorable_ then offered, “Fine, I’ll drive. Now move that sweet arse of yours before anyone wanders up here. Oh, and hit the lights on your way out. Don’t wanna draw unwelcome attention.”

Buffy was about to protest then realized he was right. She turned to head out of the room just as Spike began pulling drapes from the windows then stopped to shoot him an inquiring look over her shoulder.

“ _You_ fancy touching this thing with your bare hands?”

Good point. She would also like to get her car rental deposit back since she was pretty sure she was one inexplicably damaged vehicle away from being blackballed by the entire industry. Killing the lights on the way out, she hustled down the hallway in the opposite direction of the restroom from which she had decamped what now felt like days earlier even though she doubted it had been 30 minutes.

Whoever coined the phrase _life comes at you fast_ didn’t know the half of it.

* * * * 

Staring blankly out of the passenger window, Buffy pondered the fact that she was in a vehicle speeding down the highway in the middle of nowhere with the corpse of a dead demon wrapped in drapery in the back and Spike at the wheel. Could be worse, she supposed. She could be watching former classmates doing the Cabbage Patch. She was the first to break the silence since they’d left the resort.

“What the hell is that thing? Never seen one before.”

“Me either but I’ve heard of it: Matiasma.”

“What does it do… besides blink… like, a lot?” She shivered. _So. Many. Eyeballs._

“Not up on the details but it’s a very ancient form of vengeance demon so let’s go with nothing good. I assume that something naughty was afoot before you showed up to break up the party?”

“Yeah, but please don’t ask me to describe it you.”

“Bunch of suburbanites with mortgages, kids and jobs they hate letting their hair down? Don’t need to.”

She nodded. His innate understanding of, well everything, was uncanny. The result of observing human nature from the outside for nearly 140 years, she reckoned.

“Ah, here we are,” he announced, pulling onto a dirt road.

“Where? Exactly?”

“Tom’s place. He’s in the, shall we say, demon disposal business. He’s a trained pathologist so he also does necropsies on demons he’s never seen before. Major contributor in the field of demonology. The local slayers, both great gals by the way, engage his services time to time. Wouldn’t be surprised if your lot has some sorta contract with him.”

“Not my department.” She shrugged then turned to him. “You know the slayers here?”

“Yup.” Spoken with an enigmatic smile.

Buffy was about to inquire further when a small cottage next to a much larger Quonset hut came into view, a tall dark-haired bearded man who looked about her age standing in front of the latter in scrubs with an oversize gurney that may have been built for large animals. Spike must have called ahead while she was otherwise engaged back at the resort.

Once parked Spike killed the engine and immediately got out. He greeted the demon-coroner guy then opened Buffy’s door, offering a hand to help her out of the SUV, which she took. Back at the resort she hadn’t taken the time to change clothes, except for adding a demin jacket to the ensemble after carefully de-sliming her heel.

“Tom, this is Buffy Summers. Buffy, this is Tom Budka.”

“It’s an honor to meet the original Slayer.”

“You’re a few thousand years too late for that. More like the last of the original slayers. Nice to meet you.”

“Shall we?” Tom gestured toward the back of the vehicle.

Declining Buffy’s offer of assistance by pointing out that she’d already done her part, they wheeled the gurney to the back of the vehicle, pulled the nasty bundle onto it and wheeled it into the Quonset hut. When they returned both wore expressions that could be described as thoughtful bordering on concern.

“I agree with Spike. Looks like a Matiasma based on descriptions I’ve read.”

“So, you’ve never seen one either?” Unease rose in her gut. Unusual rarely meant good in her line of work.

“Far as I know, nobody has for hundreds of years. How did it behave?”

“It was pretty fast but it wasn’t particularly agile so I was able to tire it out quickly. It also seemed, I don’t know, disoriented or confused?”

“Ah, then it was newly-summoned. They essentially have the mental capacity of newborns at first but the longer they are around the more formidable they get. And they are quick learners so it’s good you came across it when you did.”

“Yay me.” Buffy sighed wearily.

“Thing is,” Spike interjected. “This probably isn’t a one-off. Demon this rare? Means there is probably something nasty cooking. Someone has plans.”

“Of course, they do. Always,” she stated, slumping her shoulders.

“I’m going to call in a couple colleagues tonight to consult. Not entirely sure where to begin with this one and any kind of invasive examination could be dangerous. I’ll also put out feelers to see if there is any other unusual demon activity. I’ll call when I know anything more. Meantime, have a good evening. And, again, it was a pleasure, Ms. Summers.”

“Buffy. And likewise.”

Tom returned to the Quonset, leaving them alone again.

“Night’s still young, Slayer. Can take you back to the party if you like.”

“Probably should… just in case,” she replied mirthlessly. She would really rather be _anywhere_ else and her expression showed it.

“Or…” he declared, pulling a phone from the pocket of his duster.

“Hey Siri, dial Becca.”

“Bloody brilliant, this is… like having minions again but smarter,” he added while waiting for the party on the other end to pick up. She blinked at him.

_“Hello, pet. Was wondering, anything on tonight?_

_Right._

_Had a bit of a situation up at the lodge this evening._

_Yeah, she was there and took care of it, ‘cause that’s what she does, but we’re dealing with the cleanup and such so I was wondering if you could head up there and keep an eye on the place until sun’s up. Bring Jo if she’s free._

_Hold on, lemme ask her…”_

“Red, Harris, they planning to show or what? Didn’t see them in the ballroom when I peeked in.”

“Tonight, not sure what time, they both got held up… but… wait… how did you…”

He held a hand up then continued into the phone,

“ _The witch and the one-eyed git should be turning up sometime tonight._

_Of course, you’ll get to meet her. Tomorrow. I’m sure she was planning on it anyway.”_

He looked pointedly at her. She shrugged.

_“Thanks ever so, owe you both dinner. And, Becca, take care, love. Jo too.”_

He ended the call.

“Becca and Jo, the local slayers,” Buffy asserted, folding her arms at her chest.

“Rebecca Hart and Joanne Rienzi,” Spike replied. She nodded; the names rang a bell although she’d never met them personally.

“Becca’s a transplant from the Midwest. Jo’s a local girl, born and raised,” he elaborated.

“Thanks for the bios, but none of it explains why you’re so chummy with the local slayers or what the hell you’re doing here.” The evening was wearing on her and she needed him to cut the shit.

“Tell you all about it over a drink. There’s a place just a couple miles down the road.”

“Not in the mood or dressed for a stinky demon bar, Spike.”

“Not a demon bar and not stinky, thank you very much.”

_Oh…_

_My God…_

_Seriously?!?_

“You live here.”

“More like house-sitting long term but, yeah, guess you could say that.”

“How long?”

“Nearly a year now.”

“And Dawn knows this?”

_Of course, Dawn knows this. Dead, she is. As a doornail._

His shit-eating expression was all the confirmation she needed.

* * * *

In the latest bizarro-world twist to her evening, Buffy was standing alone on Spike’s deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean, having just sent two texts. The first to Willow and Xander:

_Ran into a sitch tonight_

_Dealt with it_

_Will catch you up tomorrow_

_And about the party… UGH_

_Get some rest_

_Goodnight_

The second to the soon-to-be-late Dawn Summers:

_Get your affairs in order little sister_

_For Tuesday YOU DIE (anger emoji)_

_And something’s up here_

_Not good_

_Because I’m ALWAYS right_

“Here you go, Buffy.”

Spike joined her on the deck bearing two glasses of red wine, handing her one. It was the first time he’d addressed her by her given name all evening. He’d taken off his duster while inside, the warrior shedding his armor once he reached the comfort and safety of home.

“Nice place.” she commented before taking a sip of her wine, which was good, very good.

“Do I have to go looking for the dead body of the owner?”

“Very funny, Slayer. The owner is alive and well and living with his family up in Novato. This is a ‘surf shack’ he acquired back when the dosh first started rolling in. Before the wife and kids.”

“And he just lets vampires squat and drink his wine when he’s not using it?”

“I’ll have you know the wine is mine. Friend owns a winery near here and gave me a case for Christmas. You’re lucky I save the good stuff for company. As for the house, did the guy a favor last year and he’s grateful. Extremely grateful. He’s only got the one daughter.”

To her raised eyebrows he replied, “Girl goes off to college and meets boy of her dreams. Falls hard. Unfortunately, boy is recruiting sex slaves for demons with discerning appetites to be smuggled overseas. Got there in the nick of time to liberate an entire shipping container full of pretty young things.”

“Seems I’m not the only one with tragic taste in men,” she quipped into her glass before taking another sip.

“Cheers to that, Slayer!” He raised his glass.

“C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

They started in the kitchen where he refilled her glass and his own. It was modern and well-appointed in the way that mattered to people who used kitchens as something other than a place to unwrap takeout. Buffy removed her demin jacket and threw it over the back of one of the tall chairs at the center island, leaving her bag on the seat.

She followed Spike into the den, which was cozy with a large leather sofa, built-in bookshelves, wall-mounted TV and gas fireplace which, she noted, was on. She gazed at the photos on the mantel, assuming they belonged to the owner, until her eyes fell upon a pair of familiar faces.

_SO dead._

There was a photo of Dawn and her boyfriend, Danny, on the deck on which Buffy had stood moments earlier. Arm-in-Arm. All smiles. Framed by a pretty sunset and rolling surf. No doubt taken from inside the doorway for obvious reasons given the likely identity of the photographer. Must have been taken on Dawn’s last visit to the U.S. in the fall.

“Nice bloke,” Spike commented over her shoulder having come up behind her. “Think he might be the keeper.”

She spun around to glare at him, wine sloshing in her glass but thankfully staying put. He barely flinched and didn’t give an inch on her personal space.

“My nose about to be broken?” The ridiculous eyebrow shot up again and she was assaulted by the vivid sensory image of tracing the y-shaped scar with her tongue.

Sighing, she replied, “No, _you’re_ not the one who’s been withholding boulder-sized chunks of information. Besides, you might bleed on my dress.”

“Upstairs then?” She tracked his deep blue eyes heavenward.

_The correct answer is no, thank you_ , a little voice chimed uselessly from the back of her head _._ She wondered why, after being ignored for decades, it even bothered to weigh in anymore.

“What the hell,” she said and followed him upstairs.

Guest bedroom with twin beds. Check. Guest bath. Check. Master bedroom…

Impressive with what must be a glorious view when not obscured by blackout drapes. Two interior doorways, one to a closet the other to an en suite bathroom. Another gas fireplace. Books piled on the bedside table next to a remote… but no TV?

As though reading her mind, Spike moved around her and picked up the remote. Pressing a button, he lit the fire; pressing another he opened the drapes onto a moonlit ocean and night sky.

“Pretty nifty, eh? One of the perks of staying in the home of a tech genius.”

“That a bed or a small island nation?”

“California queen,” he replied, close to her ear. He hit another button and the lights dimmed to what, she recalled, was about crypt level.

He dropped the remote back onto the table and circled her. “Anemones,” he purred.

“Amana-what now?”

He chuckled and circled her again making heat pool in her core, rise in her checks.

“The flowers on your dress, kitten. Anemones.”

“Oh.”

“Ya know, the Victorians placed a lot of meaning in flowers.”

“Did they now?” she whispered, her eyes barely focused in the vicinity of their shoes. Every cell in her body was now buzzing with anticipation.

“Mm-hmm.” He stopped in front of her, gently tracing the strap of her dress on her left shoulder as he explained in his bedroom voice,

“Take the pretty anemone. It symbolizes so many contradictory things: bad luck, ill omens… arrival of the first spring winds… forsaken love and affection…”

Buffy looked up to meet Spike’s eyes.

“Anticipation and excitement for future events…”

If she were willing or able to avert her gaze from his she wouldn’t be surprised to find sparks arcing between their bodies. There was no point in trying to explain it at this point; their waves simply rode the same frequencies.

“So, um…” he ducked his head in an expression that anyone who didn’t know him like she did might perceive as shyness. Well, if they didn’t see his fingers tracing the delicate lace of her décolletage, making her skin burn for him.

“What shall we do with these pretty anemones?”

**TBC**


	4. Things I can't spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dawn's ringtone on Spike's phone is Siouxsie and the Banshees' 1983 recording of "Dear Prudence" written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney and originally appearing on "The Beatles," known commonly as "The White Album" (1968).

When Spike leaned in to kiss her it was sweet, chaste even, his lips fluttering across hers. Hands gliding gently down her bare arms, his touch made her blood pulse with the ebb and flow of the ocean outside. It felt so good to feel so… Alive.

He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered,

“I’m so happy to see you, Buffy. So happy you’re here.”

The ache building inside her intensified. She wanted to say something, something sweet, back to him but was unreasoningly afraid she might cry. If she cried he would stop and she could not bear the thought of stopping. She needed this. It was essential that she have this.

_You need **him**. **He** is essential._

She ultimately settled on, “My dress… unzip me?”

“My pleasure, love,” he replied as his right arm encircled her to reach for the pull.

When had she stopped objecting to that pet name? Was it after his resurrection, when she was so relieved that he was back that it just didn’t matter anymore? Or was it before? When after all they’d been through – the good, the bad, the worst – they’d finally become true friends and allies? She honestly couldn’t recall and wondered if he would remember. Of course, _he’d_ remember. Maybe she’d ask him. Later.

“You with me, pet?”

Shaken from her reverie by his voice, she found him staring intently at her with his head cocked slightly to the right, wearing that searching expression she knew so well.

“I’m right here,” she said with a lopsided smile then sighed appreciatively when she felt his cool hands on the bare skin of her back.

She pulled him into a proper kiss. Long and deep and intense and heated and, even though every cell in her body protested the break in contact, she really needed to breath. He was breathless too, heaving unnecessary breaths in time with hers. God, she loved that.

Taking a step back, she teasingly slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders and down her arms then shimmied until it pooled at her feet, taking wicked pleasure in his eyes widening with delight and lust. He sank to his knees in front of her and she braced a hand on his shoulder for balance as she stepped out of the ring of fabric. Sinking back on his heels he gazed up at her with a look of longing that could compel her to give up state secrets if she had any.

“Jesus, Slayer, just stake me and be done with it.”

Her eyes flared at his. She felt powerful and free, standing over him in her (literally) killer heels, bra and thong with the sharp geometric pattern, crisscross strapping and metal hardware that cut across her body just so. Lots to play with and Spike loved to play. She remembered the cross around her neck and raised her arms to remove it.

“No, don’t,” he protested, cool breath tickling her skin.

She arched an eyebrow.

“Have a notion. Keep it handy.”

_Oh, he definitely wants to play._

“Go, sit!” she growled, pointing in the direction of the Cadillac-sized bed.

Spike was reliably lousy at following orders. With a licentious grin he latched onto one of the straps crisscrossing her upper torso with his blunt teeth, letting it go with a snap against her skin. She gasped then glared playfully at him. He shrugged then rolled back and up into a standing position in one fluid motion. Cat-like. Graceful. It was a move she had first seen, years ago, in a fight. Impressive then. Still was.

He took a seat on the bed and Buffy stalked towards him, removing the clips holding her hair in place and shaking it loose. When she reached the bed, it was her turn to kneel as she set about removing his Doc Martens, their eyes pinned and his fingers toying with a lock of her hair.

“I love your hair.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Casting his boots aside, she swept her eyes down his body. Nodding at the visible bulge straining against the fly of his jeans she remarked,

“Looks painful.”

“You have no sodding idea.”

But, oh, she did. With a predatory grin she went for his belt but he grabbed her wrists.

“Uh, uh, uh, uh…” he admonished, tugging her up to straddle his lap.

“Need to admire those pretty underthings, up close like.”

She writhed against his erection causing them both to gasp.

“Planning to mess up my doilies, are you?” she panted.

God, she mused, it felt like a thousand years of history stretched out between them.

“What can I tell you, baby?” Spike replied with a roguish smile that made Buffy wonder if it were possible to actually _die_ from sexual arousal.

“I've always been bad.”

Then his lips and hands were all over her, exploring the areas of skin defined by the strapping of her bra, his fingertips gliding over the strips of flesh on her hips exposed by the cut of her thong. Desperate for his cool skin she pawed frantically at the buttons his shirt and they somehow managed to divest him of it and his t-shirt without destroying either or both, as they had so many times before.

_Practice makes perfect…_

And speaking of perfect, there were those shoulders all sharp bone and taut muscle and the deliciously soft, tender flesh in the hollow of his collarbones that she just _had_ to feel between her teeth. Just a nip on his left side, the cross around her neck making contact with his chest as she leaned in. The growl, longer and deeper than a human male would be capable of, told her that if she were looking into his eyes at that moment they would flash amber. Buffy was suddenly flung onto her back and yelped.

Willing her eyes to focus they were met with dark blue as he kneeled at her feet. He’d put the demon back for now but his eyes held a predatory, dangerous gleam all the same. Lifting her right leg, he placed the sole of her shoe to his chest over the faint red mark made by the cross. She applied just the right amount of pressure with her heel and his eyes narrowed.

“Slayer.”

“Slayee.”

He removed her shoe and leaned back to drop it on the floor then placed a sweet kiss on the inside of her ankle that reverberated all the way up her leg to her clit. She had no idea how he did that but, whatever it was, she would be willing to thank whatever deity or demon responsible. He let go of her right leg and moved to the left, removing that shoe, casting it aside and repeating the kiss. With the same result. She whimpered. Those eyes, that mouth, that body, that voice…

Spike was a finely-honed instrument of erotic torture.

Who was now kissing his way up her left calf, the inside of knee, her thigh. He was maddeningly slow and she cursed his self-control. He settled between her legs, lifting her calves over his shoulders, then placed a chaste kiss on her mons and muttered,

“You smell so ready for me. Bloody intoxicating, you are.”

Buffy felt heat rise in her cheeks, amazed there was sufficient blood flow reaching her face to support a blush. Then he moved aside the fabric of her thong and tickled her clit with his fingers, making her squeal.

“So sweet, like warm honey. Want a taste.”

He took one, then another, and another, until she was writhing beneath him and grasping at the sheets, tearing at his shoulders, pulling his hair, anything to brace herself against the onslaught of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He was relentless with his lips, tongue and fingers until she made a sound that fell somewhere between a strangled cry and a hiss, her entire body tensing through her release.

When her senses clocked back on duty there he was, head resting on her pelvis and looking entirely too pleased with himself. Part of her wasn’t inclined to move for days but she was only getting started. Tugging playfully on a lock of his hair liberated to its natural state of unruly curl in the course of his carnal endeavors, she insisted,

“On your back, Vampire. Do not make me ask twice.”

This time Spike immediately did as he was told and Buffy scooted over his body to straddle his legs then unceremoniously unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped his fly.

“Well, hello there, nice to see you too.”

She smirked at his amused expression. Was a time she’d have been too embarrassed or ashamed to directly address his erect penis in the first person. Which had been terribly rude of her, really.

“Kiss hello?”

His expression morphed from amused to tortured as she did just that, the cross around her neck hitting the sensitive skin of his upper thighs, taint, and bottom of his buttocks as she moved.

_Good thing he heals quickly or he’d be walking funny for days_.

She smiled around the head of as cock at the thought while savoring the colorful array of obscenities she was extracting from him.

* * * *

Two utterly debauched hours later and Spike was buried deep inside Buffy as they battled for supremacy. They had flipped positions a few times this round and now he was on top folding her legs back against her torso and corkscrewing into her with exquisite precision. She was close, so close, to her… she’d so lost count… orgasm, but not quite there. It just kept building and building and she needed something… she needed…

“I want… you to… oh please… on my…” was all should could manage to vocalize, hoping he’d catch her meaning.

She felt him twitch inside her. Oh, he’d caught her meaning alright. She felt the bones of his face shift against her neck then he lifted his head to search her eyes, just to make sure. She nodded frantically while tenderly tracing the contours of his game face. His eyes flashed blue for a moment at her tenderness and trust. This was another thing that had been strictly off limits in the bad old days that had been discovered, by accident that Spike was certain at the time would result in his immediate dusting but had not, on her 30th birthday. Ah, Paris…

“Please…” she implored breathlessly and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Arching his back, he tore the vestiges of her bra aside with his teeth then traced the areola of her left breast with his tongue before sinking his teeth gently into the flesh. When he drew on her she bucked beneath him and screamed as she came, every muscle from her toes to her fingertips to her forehead thrumming in release. He was right behind her, letting go and collapsing on top of her in a sated heap. Neither moved a muscle for what seemed like an eternity.

“Uh, Spike?” she croaked.

“Hmm?” he hummed into the pillow under her head.

“I think I’m oozing blood and you’re starting to seriously singe.”

Pushing himself off her, he looked down to see a deep red, perfect imprint of her cross at the top of his sternum just below his collarbones and her blood smeared across his chest.

“Would you look at that?” he observed amusedly.

“I swear, Buffy, you shag me senseless.”

* * * * 

Swimming to consciousness, Buffy slowly became aware of several things. The sensation of something pleasingly cool beneath her, the darkness of the room, a pleasant soreness in all the wrong places, and distant muffled ringing.

_Ringing…_

_Ringing!_

Her eyes snapped open. Ringing. As in her phone. In her jacket. Downstairs. In Spike’s house.

The ringing stopped but was immediately followed by a muffled distant female voice singing…

_Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play_

_Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day_

_The sun is up, the sky is blue_

_It’s beautiful, and so are you_

_Dear Prudence, won’t you come and play_

The pleasingly cool thing beneath her stirred.

“The Bit’s looking for you,” he said sleepily.

_Aw, that’s her ringtone on Spike’s phone? Sweet. Wait. How often do they speak?_

“I know,” she replied with a sigh.

The singing stopped and the ringing resumed.

“Don’t think she’s gonna give up, pet. Might be important.”

With a groan Buffy sat up and squinted around the room. Before they’d slipped into unconsciousness Spike had killed the lights and closed the drapes. She couldn’t even begin to guess what time it was.

“Lights? I need to find my…”

He felt around for the remote and soon there was light. She frowned. Find her _what_ exactly? The remains of her underwear were a world of no and probably needed to be burned. Then the ashes buried. And holy water poured over the ground afterwards. Her dress? At some point Spike had picked it up off the floor and folded it neatly over a chair in the corner of the room because he was truly the most ridiculous male, vampire or otherwise, she had ever encountered. But she wasn’t inclined to put it back on in her current condition of funk, and most definitely planned a quick shower before the inevitable drive of shame back to the lodge.

_Shirt!_

She hopped up gingerly because, whoa, those weren’t muscles she used to confront demons. With a couple notable exceptions. She pulled on his red button-down and quickly did up the buttons. Turning to head out of the room she caught his self-satisfied smirk.

“What?”

“You look properly shagged.”

“Me? You should see your hair, Curly.”

“Not ashamed to admit it, I am properly shagged.” He beamed, lacing his fingers behind his head.

“Not that I couldn’t do with a little…” Raising the scarred eyebrow.

Siouxsie Sioux was singing again.

“Dawn? My sister? Remember?”

“Go ahead. Be right down,” he replied with a shrug.

Her phone was ringing again as she dug it out of the pocket of her jacket.

“What, Dawn?”

“You’re really not getting the hang of this at all… and Good Morning to you too, Buffy! Thought you’d be in a better mood this morning.”

“Why would you think that? I assume you got my text last night.”

“Oh that.” Buffy could swear she could hear Dawn rolling her eyes through the phone.

“Yeah, that. You should’ve seen the thing I had to fight in Dolce & Gabbana.” She shuddered again at the memory.

“Sorry, not sorry, I missed it! But it would have been there whether you were there to fight it or not and at least you had help.”

_Damn, she has a point._

“Yeah, and about _that_. You little…”

“Hey, what did _I_ do?”

“You _didn’t_ tell me that _Spike_ just happens to live a couple miles from where they’re holding the reunion _you_ hounded me into attending.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Seriously?”

“So, I didn’t tell you he lived there. Not like I shoved you onto his…”

“Finish that sentence and so help me I’ll…”

“And how _is_ Spike this morning?”

“How should I know?”

“Oh my God, Buffy, I’m not fourteen anymore,” Dawn scoffed.

“Two people who generally pick up by the second ring aren’t picking up. Oh, and I had the front desk at the lodge dial your room. You are officially busted. Nice place he’s got, right?”

Spike picked that moment to enter the kitchen wearing only his jeans obnoxiously low on his stupid manly hipbones, and evidence of the previous evening’s proceedings all over his torso. Buffy blushed a deep crimson. He mostly contained his shit-eating grin, which may well have saved his life.

“Morning, Niblet!” he called out before turning to open the refrigerator door.

“Put him on speaker.”

“I am not putting him on speaker.” He turned to face her.

“Fine, I’ll just call his phone but then you won’t be able to hear what I say to him.”

Buffy hit the speaker button on her phone.

“You’re on speaker,” she stated impassively but issued a warning with her eyes.

“And how is the younger Miss Summers this morning?” he inquired over his shoulder having turned back to whatever he was doing at the counter then added, “Well, evening there.”

“No complaints. You?” Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Just one. The Matiasma your sister killed last night.”

“Holy shit! A Matiasma? Really?”

“Yeah, apparently,” Buffy sighed.

“Made quick work of it too,” Spike crowed.

“Well, it was newly hatched, summoned, whatever,” Buffy qualified with a shrug.

“Jesus, I’m glad you’re there, Spike, and that Willow and Xander are too. This can’t be good. Have you notified the local slayers?”

“Just that something’s up; will catch them up on the details today. They’ve been keeping an eye on the reunion while your sister is…”

“Indisposed,” Dawn offered with a wry chuckle.

“Was going to say making discreet inquiries,” Spike interjected with a smile in his voice.

“Ok, I’m hanging up now,” Buffy groused.

“Wait… wait… wait, I’m scheduled to fly out tomorrow night. Need me to come out earlier? I can probably get on tonight’s flight. Danny’s driving me to Heathrow anyway and can just as easily do it today. I’m mostly packed and can call the airline if…”

“Nah, we got this. I’ll call you if anything significant comes up,” Buffy responded.

“Ok, well, have a nice day, guys, and be safe! Love you!” With that she was gone.

_Have a nice day? Is she kidding?_

Spike turned to place a mug on the island and offered, “Coffee, I assume you still take it the same way?”

Buffy blinked vacantly at him as if he’d just demanded the solution to a complex mathematical equation.

“Slayer?”

“Shit! Willow! Xander! I need to get back to explain… what… Jesus, it’s so dark in here, what time is it?”

“You have a device in your hand that tells you that, love, but…” He turned to look at the clock on the microwave.

“7:25”

“Ugh, I’d better get a move on. I _so_ need to shower before I put my dress back on.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Don’t see why you need to run off…”

“Because Willow and Xander are expecting me and, besides, you’re the one making a big hairy deal out of the Metamucil monster.”

“Matiasma, and I’m not the only one. It is a big deal.”

“Which is why I need to alert Xander and Willow.”

“Have them come over here. I’ll call Becca and Jo too, put on a fresh pot, make brekkies. Be just like the old days in the Magic Box.”

“Have you lost your mind!?!?”

“If something’s up, either tied to the lodge or the reunion, then you’d all do well to put a little distance between yourselves and that place, at least while you thoroughly analyze the situation and formulate a cunning plan. Or, you know, do what your lot used to do most of the time: wing it. Got super-fast broadband here for research. Tech genius’ place, remember?”

_Damn, he has a point._

“Well, I’m not exactly dressed for company, am I?”

“I can just picture Harris’s face,” Spike said with a sardonic chuckle.

“Not helping! I need to get back to the lodge to scrub… well, _you_ off of me and get dressed _.”_

“Can do that here and I’ll wash your back,” he offered with a wink before taking a sip of his morning beverage which she assumed was _not_ coffee.

“Still the problem of _appropriate_ apparel.”

“Not strictly true.”

_Huh?_

“Let’s say, for the sake of argument, there are a few things here that just might fit you. Some nice casual things for the Slayer-about-town. Appropriate footwear for ambulation.”

“Dawn,” Buffy huffed, massaging the spot between her eyebrows.

“Is your brilliant and beautiful little sister who loves you and, bye the bye, is becoming one helluva watcher.”

“But…” she looked around self-consciously.

“Slayer, the cat that is us is long out of the bag and you know it. Besides, we both know you’re hiding a whole new dirty little secret these days.”

Buffy’s eyes shot up to meet Spike’s. They were inscrutable, his expression neutral, but she knew.

_He knows about Angel._

**TBC**


	5. Reunion

“You should see your face,” Spike remarked before taking another sip from his mug.

Buffy blinked away from him, at a total loss as to what to think, let alone say. He knew that Willow hadn’t broken the spell in time, that she and Angel had… and yet he’d welcomed her back into his home, his bed, his life with what sure as hell seemed like genuine enthusiasm. Of course, he also knew that Angelus had failed to reappear. Was a time he would have been merciless with that little nugget.

_Not worth a second go…_

“You two, I swear, sometimes I think the tragedy of it all was the whole bloody point.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She met his eyes again, challenging. His remained infuriatingly impassive.

“Only _you two_ could have a shag _without_ the world going tits up and be _unhappy_ about it.”

“Not unhappy. Who said I’m unhappy? And how the hell did you find out?” Angel could not possibly have volunteered that information.

“Think that little stunt went unnoticed? Still a vampire, remember? Alarm was sounded. Got back to L.A., just after you scarpered apparently, thinking I’d have to stake my grandsire only to find the same old Broody-knickers. Extra broody. At first, I assumed you hadn’t made the beast with two backs. But then Angel couldn’t look me in the eye. Kept letting me sucker punch him when we sparred, which takes the fun right out of it, by the way.” He sounded almost amused.

“Spike… I…”

“Save it, Buffy. Don’t own you. Wouldn’t want to. Not anymore. Both know was a time I did, was all I could think about. Both know how that ended up. Don’t own you any more than I own that ocean out there.” He gestured with his mug.

“Can’t own a force of nature. Besides, undead bloke travels the world trying to be _the good guy_ learns a few things… learns there are worse things… _a lot_ worse.” A rare, dark shadow crossed his features and it made her wonder. She was about to ask what things when he brightened and added,

“Happy to say the evil berk behind that caper has been neutralized. Took care of it right before I headed north.”

“Did you now?” She raised an eyebrow.

They hadn’t even discovered who was behind the spell, although in truth they hadn’t devoted a ton of resources to it since the plan had so obviously failed and there was always the next thing to worry about. Buffy had been relieved that they hadn’t delved deeper, happy to let that particular case go cold. But, of course, Spike would not have let it go. Dogged, he was, his persistence being one of the first things she had ever learned about him, all those years ago, from Angel no less.

“Said I didn’t own you. Didn’t say I _liked_ the idea of you bumping uglies with Peaches.” An involuntary grin formed on Buffy’s lips.

“What?” he asked, rolling his eyes dramatically as he moved around the island to where she was standing.

“A girl could get the idea that a boy didn’t care,” she stated, more than a little shocked by her own willingness to admit as much.

“Boy can be big about it when girl’s wearing his shirt and nothing else.”

He kissed her forehead then took her hand in his and gave her arm a gentle tug.

“Time’s wasting, Slayer. Got nasties to deal with. Rub-a-dub-dub then we muster the troops.”

* * * *

An hour later they were freshly showered and dressed, Spike in jeans and a black t-shirt that ironically bore the slogan _Born to Raise Hell,_ and Buffy in a pair of cropped yoga pants and tank top. The co-conspirators had been thorough. In addition to a small wardrobe, mostly casual wear, he had pulled a storage bin from the floor of the closet in the master bedroom containing an array of her preferred personal products – from hair and skin care right down to the dental floss she liked because it didn’t break off and get stuck between her teeth. Which she _so_ hated. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

They were now back in the kitchen where he was getting things together for breakfast while she sat at the island with her phone. Buffy had texted Xander and spoken briefly to Willow while Spike had contacted the slayers, who reported all quiet at the resort the rest of the night. Everyone would be arriving shortly. The silence in the kitchen was companionable but the air still buzzed with the residual energy of what had transpired between them in the last hour.

He had delighted in showing her the roomy shower stall with dual shower heads, explaining that the tankless water heater would provide as much hot water as they needed. Which turned out to be a lot because sharing a shower had resulted in the inevitable: Buffy’s legs wrapped around Spike’s torso, his hand bracing on the shower wall behind her head as he thrust into her like his very existence depended on it, the whole time whispering her name, murmuring that it was just them there, that no one and nothing else existed. It was all she could do to hold on for dear life and bear down to meet him, her wild, desperate eyes mirroring his as she panted _yes_ and _please_ over and over again. She had come gasping his name; he had followed with a strangled cry. Then they had just held each other for a time, hot water sluicing between them and feeding a network of rivers and tributaries on their skin.

Within the context of what the two of them were capable of it had not been particularly noteworthy either stylistically or in degree of difficulty – the Russian judge might have given it a grudging 6.0 – but there had been an _intensity_ to it that lingered. Like they were still physically connected even as he ground coffee beans and she caught up on email. When the doorbell rang he turned and leaned over the island to kiss her sweetly.

“Showtime, love,” he announced with a wink. She shrugged and followed him out of the kitchen to greet their visitors.

Becca and Jo, aka the Central Coast slayers, were the first to arrive. Becca – tall and willowy with large almond-shaped chocolate brown eyes, café con leche skin, freckles, and a mass of dark curls framing her lovely face – was flat-out gorgeous but also confident and open in a way that Buffy immediately envied. She couldn’t imagine bearing the burden of slayer and carrying herself with such aplomb. When Spike introduced her to Buffy she smiled broadly and hugged her, effusing,

“I can’t believe I get to meet a goddamned legend!”

Jo – more compact in every way with pale skin, close-cropped light brown hair, gray eyes, and a lean athletic build – was more guarded. She shook Buffy’s hand and offered a polite, “It’s a privilege and a pleasure,” but her eyes betrayed none of Becca’s warmth.

That is until Spike pulled first her then Becca into a bear hug. Buffy could see it plain as day; they were trusted allies. They loved him and he loved them. She was overcome with gratitude for his devotion to the young slayers that she felt, whether entitled or not, were in some way her progeny, her legacy. She wanted to kiss him senseless but, alas, there was no time. Because something not-good was up. Because it was Saturday. And she was Buffy.

Willow and Xander were not far behind. Spike was getting coffee for Becca and Jo when the doorbell rang again. Buffy hustled to answer it, welcoming her old friends with smiles and hugs. Closing the door, Buffy cleared her throat and, in an apologetic tone, began,

“Guys, when I gave you this address, I neglected to mention…”

“Yo, Captain Peroxide!” Xander interrupted, bellowing into the house. “When you were bragging about this place you weren’t lying!”

Emerging from the kitchen with a grin Spike replied, “’Course I wasn’t lying, you one-eyed git.” He held out his hand and Xander took it, pulling him into that chest-bump-bro-hug thing men do. Then he turned to Willow.

  
“Red”

They stepped into a hug then Willow drew back and placed her hand flat against the center of Spike’s chest. The point of contact glowed for an instant. They smiled warmly at each other. Buffy gasped.

“Coffee’s on. Got eggs, bacon, could do pancakes if anyone’s keen,” Spike offered.

“Mmm, pancakes!” Willow declared with an enthusiastic nod.

“Wouldn’t say no,” Xander added.

“’Course _you_ wouldn’t say no, oh flabby one.”

“I’ll have you know that I have the body of a god. Just happens to be Buddha.”

The lively banter continued as the assembled party moved into the kitchen, leaving Buffy standing alone and gap-jawed in the entryway.

“That Spike lives here,” she muttered to herself, pointlessly finishing her earlier thought.

* * * * 

“Hello, Buffy,” Giles offered warmly. Spike wasn’t kidding about the broadband; it was the best Skype connection she’d had in ages.

“Hi Giles,” she replied with a wide smile. It had been a while since they’d been face to face, virtually or in person.

“Rupert!” Spike interjected ducking his head over her shoulder.

“Spike,” Giles responded with a note of disapproval, mostly out of old habit, before addressing someone off-camera.

“Here, love, let me do that for you.”

Maia, his 10-year-old daughter with longtime partner, Olivia, came into the frame to perch on her father’s lap so he could fasten the closure at the neckline of her dress.

“Bloody thing,” he muttered as he struggled with the fastener.

“And who might this exquisite creature be?” Spike inquired.

“I’m Maia,” the girl answered with a shy smile. Staring intently into the screen she continued,

“ _You’re_ Spike?”

“So, you’ve heard of me.” Delivered with that winning smile of his.

She nodded and continued to gape.

“I think I hear your mother calling you,” Giles advised. If his hands were free Buffy was sure he’d be cleaning his glasses.

“No, she didn’t,” Maia stated without blinking.

“Hi, Maia!” Buffy chimed in brightly in an attempt to break the spell.

“Hi,” the girl replied distractedly, her eyes never leaving the object of her fascination.

Buffy met Giles’s eyes and shrugged. He rolled his in response.

Clearing his throat Giles stated, “Well, we’d better get to the business at hand. We must leave shortly for dinner with Maia’s grandparents.”

“Miss Williams-Giles, you get over here, girl! I have to do your hair… Oh, hi!” Olivia ducked into the screen and waved then added, “Now if you’ll excuse us,” and physically guided her daughter away.

“So, what is it you would like to discuss?”

“The Matiasma your Slayer off’d last night for a start.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Tom Budka is.”

“Extraordinary.”

“So _everyone_ keeps saying,” Buffy groaned.

“Has anything else unusual happened?”

Define unusual, because this morning’s shower sex was… she thought but did not say. What she _did_ say was,

“Not as far as we know but the weekend’s young. Becca and Jo, the local slayers, kept watch last night and didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. We sent them both home after breakfast to get some rest so they’ll be fresh for tonight, and Willow and Xander have gone back to the lodge to try to do a little recon. We’ll do some general research here and catch up with Tom then regroup and figure out how to work tonight’s festivities – tour, tasting and dinner at a local winery.”

“ _Any_ thoughts, Buffy?”

“Besides, color me shocked, Sunnydale High Class of ’99 seems to have taken a little bit ‘o Hell with it wherever it goes? No… well… maybe…”

“Go on,” Giles encouraged.

“Do you remember a student, our year, Crystal Jennings?” He thought for a moment then shook his head.

“I wish I still had my yearbook but it was just one more casualty of the collapse of the Hellmouth.”

She winced as soon as the words left her lips. Spike emitted a sardonic chuckle then pressed a chaste kiss to the ball of her left shoulder bared by her tank top and strolled back towards the kitchen. She slapped a hand to her forehead then shook her head.

“Buffy, are… you…?” His hands now free to do so, Giles proceeded to clean his glasses.

“38 years old and long past the point when you, or anyone else, needs to fret over my virtue?”

“No, I mean, right. I just thought maybe the status of your… association…”

“Remains undefined. Now that we’re all caught up, back to Crystal. She’s the one who arranged the reunion, planned the whole thing, and she’s married to a rich guy and, by rich, I mean _I get around in my own personal helicopter_ rich. His name is Matthew Branch. Not from Sunnyhell. She met him later.”

“And you think they may have summoned the Matiasma for some reason?”

“Not sure, she seems nice enough but there’s something about him that just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Well, I trust your judgment and your gut. If you think it bears looking into then I will make discreet inquiries. Meantime, I’d best ring off or my other half will send a Matiasma for me.”

“Enjoy your evening out, Giles.”

“After which I shall regale my impressionable young daughter with horrifying tales of William the Bloody, Scourge of Europe, to give her nightmares then try to rest in the knowledge that, in ten years’ time, she’ll be 20 and Spike will look exactly as he does today.”

“Thanks for _that_ reminder.”

  
“Buffy, it may not mean much coming from me, but you are far lovelier today than the day I first set eyes on you in the library.”

“Must be a British thing,” Buffy replied with a wan smile.

“Spike says the same thing every time he sees me.”

With that she ended the Skype, closed the laptop, and walked into the kitchen to find Spike seated at the island looking intently at his phone. She took the seat next to him and leaned in to kiss his cheek. He turned to her and smiled. She kissed his lips.

“Sorry about the Hellmouth thing. Buffy and words still unmixy sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it, pet. Wasn’t offended. Figured I’d Google the rich sod what’s giving you the heebie jeebies and let you catch up with Rupes without hovering. What I’ve read so far, doesn’t seem any more evil than the rest of these Silicon Valley wankers.”

Buffy shrugged. “It’s just a feeling. Could be totally off.”

“I very much doubt that, Slayer.”

His unwavering confidence in her warmed her. She wanted to kiss him again but refrained.

“Giles is afraid Maia is going to come looking for you when she grows up.”

Spike laughed. “Is he now? Mind you, she’s destined to be a looker. Will never understand how the beige tweeded one managed to pull a bird tasty as her mum.”

“Yeah, that’s been a mystery to me ever since freshman year of college but I’ve tried not to dwell on it with the whole father-figure thing. They seem to work, though. They’re happy and Maia is a great kid.”

“Must have hidden talents, your Rupert.”

“Now _that_ I most definitely do _not_ want to dwell on.”

They exchanged smirks then her phone rang… somewhere.

“Shit, my phone… where?”

“Ever consider stapling it to your forehead?”

Shooting him a look she slid off the tall chair and went in search of it.

When she found it, she saw a missed call from Willow followed by a text.

_We’ll be back in 10_

That was quick, she thought, which could mean one of two things: either everything was hunky dory or it _really_ wasn’t.

Buffy had two guesses but she really only needed one.

**TBC**


	6. The anti-anxiety properties of grilled cheese

“We’re not staying there tonight,” Willow proclaimed bearing an armload of luggage.

Xander followed with more. Buffy had given them her room key in case they felt the need to access the extra weapon or two she always shipped ahead to her next destination to avoid awkward conversations with TSA. Their armloads told her that they had packed up her room at the resort as well as each of their own.

Scratching his head, Spike offered, “Only have the one guest room but it has twin beds.”

“I can take the couch,” Xander proposed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Willow objected. “We’ve known each other since kindergarten. We can share a room.” Xander nodded and shrugged.

Addressing Buffy, she added, “You want us to leave your stuff in Sp… your… or would you rather?”

Spike quirked an eyebrow at her.

_Oh, for the love of…_

Scoffing, Buffy grabbed her belongings, pointedly shoving most of them into the vampire’s arms and rolling her eyes at his triumphant smirk then took one of Willow’s bags from her.

“C’mon guys, let me show you the guest room then you can explain what the hell is going on.”

After leaving Xander and Willow to get settled Buffy returned to the kitchen to find the host with the most preparing to make grilled cheese sandwiches with a dizzying array of choices: white, multigrain, sourdough (a given in these parts), cheddar, swiss, mozz, bacon, ham, tomato, mushroom, avocado, jalapeño.

_When and how does he do grocery shopping? And to feed whom? The slayers? How often do they drop by, anyway?_

Buffy decided not to dwell too long on the image of two nubile young women lounging around Spike’s house, two young _slayers_ no less, given his predilections.

_I knew the only thing better than killing a slayer would be…_

She shook off the notion and commented without scorn, “You truly are the weirdest vampire I’ve ever met.”

“I prefer to think of myself as unique.”

“Willow does not act on impulse. Well, not anymore, anyway. If anything, she’s overly cautious now. This is not of the good.”

“I know, which is why I’m making lunch. Learned that little things help people get through. A hot cuppa. A meal, even if it’s something simple. Few minutes’ rest, to just sit and be, before it all hits the fan.”

Speaking of impulse, Buffy was overcome by one and acted on it. Moving behind him she snaked her arms underneath his and wrapped him in an embrace from behind, resting her cheek against his back and slipping her eyes closed. Long after she was ashes or dust or whatever, he would (hopefully) still be here, a champion fighting with and taking care of slayers not even born yet. The thought filled her with a sort of peaceful calm despite her anxiety. He emitted a low, contented rumble but did not speak, the muscles of his back rippling pleasantly against her as he worked.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of Willow politely clearing her throat. Buffy opened her eyes to find her in the doorway with Xander standing behind her, both looking awkwardly apologetic for having to intrude on the moment. She slowly untangled herself from Spike, turned to them and announced,

“Chef Bloody is preparing lunch.”

“Yay, grilled cheese!” Xander cheered.

Some things never changed: he could still be absurdly buoyed by the prospect of food, even in the midst of the apocalypse du jour. He took a seat then Willow took the seat next to him and Buffy the seat next to her. Spike solicited requests for sandwiches and set about filling them. It all felt so stupidly normal, like they were just any old friends getting together for a holiday weekend and not a vampire (an ensouled one to boot), a vampire slayer, a powerful witch and a guy who wore an eye patch over a socket rendered empty by an asshole possessed by the oldest and darkest force of evil that existed.

She also pondered the fact that she hadn’t panicked and immediately pulled away from Spike when observed by people they knew. Sure, plenty of strangers had seen them in intimate embraces over the years, going all the way back to those stolen kisses in the Bronze after the Tabula Rasa fiasco and Giles’s ill-conceived and ill-fated return to England. Hell, she was pretty sure everyone either residing in or visiting Paris in mid-January 2011 had gotten an eyeful of the two of them cutting whole swaths through the city in a near-constant state of physical contact. But being _this_ version of Buffy and Spike (or _Spuffy_ as Dawn had obnoxiously anointed them years ago) in front of people so familiar with the _other_ versions was new, though not nearly as weird as she thought it would be. Then again _weird_ was a relative term when activities like impaling an eyeball monster with expensive Italian footwear were a feature of daily life.

“The lodge is currently a supernatural dead zone,” Willow explained after taking a bite of her sandwich and giving Spike a thumb’s up as she chewed.

“Isn’t that a _good_ thing?” Buffy asked.

“No. Every place has _some_ level of supernatural energy. Think of it like the naturally-occurring radiation in our environment, in everything we touch, in our own bodies even, our bones. It’s low-level and not harmful. Radiation only becomes a problem when it builds up to dangerous levels. In super-nature, like nature, balance is key. When things get out of balance it all tends to go pear-shaped.”

“My least favorite shape,” Xander commented with a frown.

“So, what do you think it means?” Buffy inquired wishing she didn’t have to know the answer.

“Nothing good. It’s like all the energy in the area has been cleared away, gathered up and stored elsewhere to be unleashed all at once. To use another analogy from nature, picture the tide going out unusually fast and far before a tsunami. There’s that interval between when the tide rushes out and the wave comes crashing in. I believe we’re in that interval.”

“Well, bugger us,” Spike cut in. “What about the Matiasma? Why summon it? Wouldn’t that drain off a bit of the stored energy?”

“That’s just it, I’m not sure that it _was_ summoned. I think it might have just been dropped there, sort of sucked into our dimension by the energy displacement.”

“Well, it did seem almost as surprised to see me as I was to see it.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Xander asked before popping the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.

“I’ve got _a lot_ of phone calls to make,” Willow replied, adding, “Spike, I’ll need to speak to that Tom guy I’ve been hearing so much about lately.”

“No problem, I’ll text you his number.”

“And tonight?” Buffy asked.

“We go to the wine thingy,” Willow suggested with a shrug. “I can’t get a bead on anything at the resort anyhow – magic has nothing to work on there. It’s like trying to start a fire where there’s no oxygen. Besides, our best chance to avoid the badness is to figure out who’s cooking it up and that starts with good, old-fashioned surveillance.”

“Shouldn’t we, ya know, evacuate the lodge?” Xander asked.

“I don’t see the point, really. Whatever’s coming, it won’t be tonight. Tomorrow or Monday is more likely. We’ll be entering the last phases of the moon, a time of release and surrender. Act too soon and we’ll just be tipping our hand to whoever or whatever is behind this.”

“Right, well, I’m coming along,” Spike insisted.

“I didn’t reserve a spot for a plus one because I, you know, _had no idea_ _you lived here_ until last night?”

He shot her a trademark look then asserted, “Don’t be daft, been crashing parties since before you lot were born. Crashed a few of yours if memory serves. Remember parent-teach…”

“Wait a minute!” Xander interrupted. “I RSVP’d for two because Maeve was supposed to be here. Spike can be _my_ plus one.”

“So long as you’re not expecting me to put out, Harris.”

* * * * 

“Well that’s just cruel,” Spike groaned as he entered the bedroom, giving her scantily-clad body the familiar once-over that telegraphed _I want to devour you_.

He would, naturally, come in as Buffy stood there in the second new set of underwear of reunion weekend, this time a strapless bra and matching tanga with similar lines and metal detailing to the set he’d demolished the night before. She had thrown on the short silk robe she’d packed but hadn’t bothered to belt it as she prepared to finish her hair and do her makeup.

“Stay!” she ordered, holding her hand out in front of her in the _stop_ position.

“I actually need to _wear_ these things tonight – this is the only bra I have that’ll work with my dress. _And_ I need to finish getting ready.”

“But…” he protested, pouting. Adorably.

_No, Buffy, NOT adorable. NoNoNoNoNO!_

“No time to be a vampire chew toy. So help me, I’ll douse myself in holy water if I have to.”

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes he flopped onto his back on the bed and sighed, “Then for the love of mercy, put on some clothes. Preferably something shapeless in burlap. Who am I kidding? You could make burlap look sexy.”

She stifled a smile – best not to encourage him – and belted her robe then padded into the bathroom with her makeup case. She was halfway done putting on her face when she felt him come up behind her. Glaring into her own reflection in the bathroom mirror as she felt his hands snake around her body, she chided,

“I need to put a bell on you.”

“I got bored,” he hummed into her hair as he pulled her close, nuzzling, slyly untying the belt to her robe. His fingers tickled the sensitive flesh beneath her navel.

“Spike,” she warned, in as menacing a tone as she could muster while every cell in her body screamed _Aw, come on, Buffy!_ The thing about being a sex camel was that once you finally got to an oasis, you could drink for days and days.

“We need to get ready to…”

“Leave in exactly 42 minutes…” he breathed into her ear. “Plenty of time.”

“But Xander and Willow… woah!” she moaned as his hand snaked into her panties, gently, obviously heeding her earlier warning about the sanctity of her undergarments. She grabbed the edges of the sink to brace herself.

He chuckled devilishly and crooned, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

Guilty as charged. Being shamelessly wet had pretty much been a permanent condition since first contact the night before. And now, the way he was working her with one hand, the other moving her hair aside so that he could access that spot on her neck that never failed to liquify her entire being, she was rendered helpless with need. Buffy tried to turn around to face him but he bucked against her, pinning her to the vanity. Spike was hard as granite against her.

“Uh-uh,” he whispered.

She could only whimper in reply. Whenever they… like this… it was always charged with an extra edge of vulnerability, of surrender, for her. It was equal parts terrifying and thrilling. And so very erotic. He eased up her robe then smoothly eased down her panties. Her breath hitching in anticipation at the sound of his zipper, she arched her back.

“That’s my Slayer.”

She could hear the smile in his voice and feel him, just the tip, teasing her. Her grip on the porcelain tightened.

“Yessss…” she hissed as he glided inside of her with the precision of a skilled expert. Which, on the subject of her body, he was… well, the world’s leading expert.

“No. Don’t close your eyes.”

Buffy’s eyes flew open and she gasped at words echoing from the past, their long and complicated past, to see only her own reflection, flushed with arousal, heated and mid-coital as her body moved rhythmically in time to seemingly nothing. Spike moved his hands up her body to tease her nipples through her bra and she yelped, her mouth dropping open wantonly.

“I want you to see what I see. How you look when you come for me. How magnificent you are. I want you to see Buffy. My mistress. My goddess.”

His voice could be the voice of Satan himself. And she truly would not care. As long as he didn’t stop saying things like that. As long as he didn’t stop fucking her.

_* * * *_

“Hubba hubba!” Willow declared as Buffy descended the stairs in front of Spike.

Buffy had to admit that the two of them cleaned up alright, she in her sleek black Alexa Chung minidress with beaded spaghetti straps which she paired with the demon-killing heels and wristlet from the night before. She wore her mid-length hair down tonight, going for tousled (albeit a bit more tousled than originally intended) rather than sleek with a pair of glittery statement earrings, her only jewelry.

More surprising, though, was Spike. He was wearing a lightweight, slim-fitting Italian-cut suit in steel gray with a salmon pink shirt, all of which somehow made his eyes look even more ridiculously blue. No tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, offering just a glimpse of the taut ivory paradise of muscled flesh beneath it. A faint pink mark remained from the cross mishap, which totally worked on him because, really, what didn’t? Capping off the ensemble were Italian leather dress shoes and a watch that looked expensive as fuck. She’d be peeling frustrated wives off him all night, she figured.

“Right now, I truly regret my love handles,” Xander muttered tugging at his collar. Willow nudged him playfully with her shoulder, looking fetching herself in a deep-green wrap dress and black, knee-high boots.

“You need to share your skincare regimen with me. You’re radiant,” Willow effused. Buffy shrugged, coloring slightly.

Rolling his eye, Xander opened and held the door, responding to Willow’s compliment as she passed,

“No, she doesn’t, really. Trust me.”

Spike patted Buffy’s derriere on their way out the door. She swatted his hand away without looking back.

“Still got the one good eye here! Please don’t make me regret that!” Xander called after them as he brought up the rear, pulling the door closed behind him.

**TBC**


	7. Corked

The evening began uneventfully enough. Spike’s flammable nature meant that they arrived just after sunset and just as the winery tour was finishing up. What followed, in the tasting room, was a presentation on food pairings. A presentation that Buffy and Spike missed because, on the premise of searching for anything out of place, he had proposed that they conduct a sweep of the premises while Willow and Xander kept an eye on the party.

She totally got his century-plus survival and success as the evil undead considering the ease with which he was able to con the owners with his disappointed wine connoisseur routine. They were even willing to give them free run of the barrel room after a brief private tour in lieu of the one they’d missed.

“Lame,” Buffy commented with a quirk of her eyebrow after their hosts had left them to rejoin the others.

“What?”

“Making up excuses to be alone with me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, love,” he crooned as he entered her personal space.

“Never know what kind of nasties could be lurking in here. Or what nefarious plans they may have for you.” He spent the next ten minutes demonstrating. Vividly.

“You are truly evil,” she muttered, digging in her bag for her lipstick and a tissue to wipe her lipstick off the cheerfully naughty vampire standing beside her.

“Hardly, anymore. S’pose it gets bottled up,” he replied cheekily.

“Lucky me,” she sighed as she set about wiping off Chanel Red that stood out like neon on the pale skin of his chin, neck and earlobe.

“You _are_ lucky I didn’t roger you right here.”

“Like I’d let you.”

_Who am I kidding, of course I’d let him. Son-of-a-bitch knows it too._

He shot her a skeptical look then, fortunately, let it go.

“We _did_ get to snoop around a bit, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t yield anything.”

“We’d best get back then. And stop fussing with your lips, Buffy. Like every other square inch of that lethal body of yours, they are bloody exquisite.”

“Can we not talk?” she warned with a smirk as she stuffed the lipstick and lipstick-stained tissue back into her purse.

Straightening her dress, she strode toward the door leading out to the tasting room. If she allowed him to keep up his uniquely Spike sweet talk, _she_ would probably roger _him_ right there, which was _so_ _not_ the priority right now.

* * * * 

The party had moved to a large tent outside where bottles were being poured, accompanied by an impressive variety of finger foods being passed around on silver trays by catering staff. As they moved through the tent in search of Willow and Xander they exchanged pleasantries with some of the other guests with Buffy introducing Spike as _William_ to those who deigned to engage in chit chat. It all went well except for one awkward exchange with a former classmate with a good memory.

“Hey, didn’t _you_ try to _kill_ me once? And didn’t _you_ stop him?”

“Sorry, mate, was a bit of a tosser back then.”

“He’s experienced a lot of personal growth through therapy. _Years_ of it,” she added with a triumphant gleam in her eye.

“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath, swatting her backside as they moved on through the throng of wine-swilling, hors d’oeuvres-snarfing guests.

“Wanker,” she shot back through a smile as she nodded hello at former classmates and their plus-ones.

“Not this weekend, Slayer,” he teased, this time giving her right buttock a fleeting but firm squeeze.

_Touché._

“One thing to check off the list anyway,” Willow joked waving a shrimp at them as they approached.

“I assume the _patrolling_ went well,” Xander remarked pointedly. “Ow,” he added when Spike slapped him on the back of the head.

“Would’ve been worth it even I still had the sodding chip.”

“Now that we’ve dispensed with the buddy-film banter,” Buffy stated with a roll of her eyes. “We didn’t see anything out of the ordinary inside. Anything out here?”

“No,” Willow replied with a shrug. “Except that this place is normal, supernatural energy-wise, so I think my assumption that tonight’s not the night is correct. Oh, and Crystal and her husband are here. They came over to greet us and, yeah, I got the same creepy vibe from him.”

“Oh yeah,” Xander agreed. “He was definitely _way_ more interested in Willow than in me and _not_ in the usual way a straight guy with functioning eyeballs would be.”

Just then, and not a moment too soon, a member of the catering staff appeared with a tray of filled glasses and offered, “Cabernet franc?”

“You are an angel of mercy,” Buffy replied, reaching for a glass.

“Yes, thank you,” Willow added, also taking a glass.

Xander shook his head no and Spike responded, “No thanks, pet, wine makes me do things I’ll regret in the morning,” adding a wholly unnecessary wink under the scarred eyebrow. The young woman blushed, lingered just a bit too long, then moved on. Buffy fixed her gaze on his, her expression as deadpan as his was amused.

“Right,” he announced, flexing his shoulders. “I think I’ll take my date for a twirl around the tent to see what we can see. C’mon Harris.” With a shrug, Xander turned and followed the vampire.

“What was with the glowy this morning?” Buffy asked, feigning nonchalance as she and Willow stood side-by-side sipping wine and scanning the room.

“Huh? Oh, you mean Spike. That was his soul.”

“That much I figured but you don’t usually go around shaking hands with people’s souls… do you?” Buffy silently acknowledged that she wouldn’t actually know since, these days, the old friends saw each other twice, maybe three times, in a good year.

“No, it’s just…”

“What?”

“When Spike closed the Hellmouth, his soul was released and it kind of passed by and waved to me on the way. I was able to see it.”

“You _what?”_

Turning to her, Willow sheepishly conceded, “I guess I never mentioned that.”

“No, you did not,” Buffy replied before draining her glass, which she absently handed to a passing member of the catering staff who deftly took it from her without missing a beat.

“It’s just…” Willow continued with a shrug.

“Nobody knew how to talk to you about him after he was gone. I think we were all sort of overwhelmed by what he did and… and your sadness. Which you valiantly tried to hide but hung all around you while you kept busy dealing with all the changes. Then we found out he was back and… Anyway, the first time I ran into him I think he was genuinely surprised that I was happy to see him. The dope. So, I showed him that I could see the real him and told him how proud of him I was. Since then it’s become this thing we do whenever we cross paths.”

“The first time I saw him… after… I broke his nose.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t feel entitled to a ‘Baby, I’m back’ phone call, did I? You two share a whole other level of history. It’s beautiful, you know.”

“Hmm…?” _Our history… beautiful? It could be called a lot of things but…_

“His soul. Was lovely when I first saw it but it’s gotten even more beautiful as it’s… I don’t know, matured, I guess. Now more than ever even though… or maybe because… it’s tinged with… Harmony?”

“Spike’s soul is tinged with Harmony?” Buffy blinked in confusion at Willow’s wide eyes.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” squealed a familiar voice from behind her.

_Oh. My. God._

Turning, Buffy found herself pulled into an involuntary, and unnervingly strong, bear hug. Meeting Spike’s blinking eyes over the other blond’s shoulder as he and Xander made their way back towards them, she mouthed, “Help. Me.”

“Okay, Harm, know it’s exciting and all but you can put the girl down now,” Spike intoned as he approached.

“Blondie Bear!”

Harmony let go of Buffy and threw her arms around her fellow vampire. He returned the hug with a smile of genuine affection. And didn’t object to the nickname. Which Buffy noted by crossing her arms and furrowing her brow. Out of the corner of her eye she could swear she detected a smirk playing at Willow’s lips, compounding her irritation.

“You been behaving, pet?” he asked as they drew apart.

“Don’t insult me,” she replied with a pout that evolved into a proud smile as she continued, “Who has time to _misbehave?_ I’m a busy social media influencer! I have people! A whole team! They keep me well fed. I keep them well paid. _And_ they get to keep all the free shit I get that I don’t want.”

“Not that it’s not great to see you and all,” Xander piped in. “But don’t you think it’s going to be awkward trying to explain why you look the same as you did in high school. As in _exactly_ the same? Instagram is one thing with all the filters and Photoshop but in person?”

“Uh, ever heard of a thing called Botox? I get samples of _all_ the goodies, not that I need them. Hey, I can hook you up if you want!” Harmony added addressing Buffy and Willow, who replied with matching scowls while Xander and Spike did their best to stifle amusement.

“I’m so sorry I missed your big night last night, Buffy. Just couldn’t get away any sooner. May is such a busy month. Starts with the Met Gala and only gets busier from there. Couldn’t get out of an event in L.A. last night. _Another_ cosmetics line launch.” Harmony rolled her eyes then went on, and on.

“Hey, want samples? Got a whole suitcase full! Ooh, I love this song! Remember it? Let’s dance, cute little pirate-man!” With that Harmony grabbed Xander by the arm and dragged him away, a look of terror on his face as she pulled him towards the dance floor.

“I think it’s safe to assume that we’ve all plunged into a hell dimension without realizing it,” Buffy remarked, her arms still crossed in annoyance as she watched Harmony cajole Xander into dancing to Madonna’s _Ray of Light_.

“Aw, c’mon love, Harm’s alright. She means well… well maybe not well but… she’s… let’s go with doing the best she can?” Spike offered noncommittally.

* * * *

As if they needed any further proof that evil was afoot, Harmony had been seated at their table for dinner. She proceeded to regale them with stories of her celebrity encounters that were actually pretty damned entertaining, Buffy had to admit. Every once in a while, someone would approach their table and ask for her autograph, usually under the pretext that it was for their kid, neighbor’s kid, favorite niece, whatever. Harmony graciously acquiesced to each and every request, signing with a flourish and punctuating her signature with a heart and a stream of x’s and o’s.

The food was good. The wine was good. It was turning out to be a surreally pleasant evening. One might actually describe it as fun. While it lasted. Willow had just gotten a call from a coven in Perth and left the tent to take it when things got interesting.

“We both know that you’re not in love with me anymore! If you ever were!” a female voice accused.

They turned just in time to see the minister’s wife, out of her seat, throw a glass of wine in his face. This just wasn’t turning out to be his weekend.

“What do you mean you never wanted kids!” Shouted another voice, male this time, from the other side of the room. “Or is it that you never wanted kids _with me!_ ”

“You gambled away our savings!?!” added a third.

“I haven’t had an orgasm in 6 years!”

“For the love of all that is sacred, trim your nose hair!”

“Yes, I’m having an affair with the gardener!”

“Every single thing I brought with me this weekend is rented, from the car to my clothes. Maxed out my credit card to do it. I’m flat broke,” another classmate admitted.

Buffy and Spike exchanged a look that read _uh-oh_ then rose slowly from their seats. Harmony was busy recording the scene on her phone.

“I ogled Harmony’s boobs while we were dancing! I am the worst husband ever!”

Spike rolled his eyes at Xander’s confession. Buffy slapped both hands over her face, shaking her head. Then she was overcome by the strangest sensation and her mind was suddenly flooded with images from her past – Spike-centric images – and she felt her lip quiver, tears welling in her eyes.

“Bloody hell, Slayer, you alright?”

Because, of course, he saw that she wasn’t. Always seeing her. The real her. Even when others couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Because what they saw frightened them while he was admiring of what he saw even when they were mortal enemies. Dear, sweet, loving, orgasm-inducing, Spike. Her beautiful demon lover. Caring friend, mentor and protector of her baby sister. Hot cocoa confidante of her mother. Always attuned, sensitive, even way back when, and wasn’t that why she had punched him when he said he wanted to save the world and betray Angelus because he hated the way Drusilla was around him, because he was capable of love and devotion and heartache when Angelus was capable of none of the above? And hadn’t she resented him for it? Hadn't she _always_ done that? Made _him_ pay for _another_ vampire’s sins?

She clamped her mouth tightly shut, shaking her head furiously.

“Need to get you out of here.” She nodded with equal fervor.

“Right.”

Grabbing Buffy around the waist with one hand while gently covering her mouth with the other, Spike barked at Harmony, “You are officially deputized. Got to get this one out of here and find Red. Three things: Do not let Harris out of your sight… or anywhere near your tits. Do not let anyone kill anyone else. And do not eat anyone.” Harmony scoffed as she, too, rose from her seat to prepare to intervene when and where necessary.

“As if… and that’s actually _four_ things!” she called after them as he dragged Buffy from the table. After a few steps he gave up trying to maneuver her on foot and hoisted her into his arms, practically breaking into a sprint as soon as he was clear of the tent.

“Oh no, I was afraid of something like this!” Willow exclaimed as she ran towards them.

“Is she alright?” she added worriedly.

“I am now. You can put me down,” Buffy croaked, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He gently set her down on her feet.

“You were afraid of this? How did you know?” Spike asked, keeping a watchful eye on Buffy to make sure she was ok.

“The call from Perth was a warning. This afternoon I contacted friendly covens from all over and engaged them in a vigilance spell. Sort of like a mystical tracking and diagnostic device. I’m crowdsourcing the problem. The Perth coven sensed a surge in magical energy nearby and called in the warning.”

“What the hell _was_ that?” Buffy asked, fully regaining her composure.

“Truth spell… and a damned good one at that. Almost as powerful as the one that twisted _Lord of the Dance_ put on us back in Sunnydale. Without the singing, thank God.”

“Not quite as powerful so demons are fully immune.” Spike stated as he and Buffy shared a knowing glance.

“And I, being a smidge demon, managed to hold on longer than anyone else.”

_Just barely._

She really owed Spike one. This was a direct assault. Things had turned from theoretical to actual. It was most definitely on.

“Let’s go, I’ve got to lift it before someone gets hurt,” Willow advised, setting her jaw in that determined uber-witch way of hers.

“Consummatum est!” she declared with a sweep of her hand when they reached the edge of the tent. Her eyes flashed black for an instant and a quiet calm descended.

Surveying the scene, they found Xander crying into Harmony’s phone, Harmony releasing her grip on two bloodied men she had each been holding by the nape of the neck, a few people in fetal positions on the ground, others disengaging from awkward embraces and the remainder – Buffy assumed the most well-adjusted among them – looking frightened and bewildered.

_First things first._

Stalking over to Xander, she grabbed the phone out of his hand and put it to her ear.

“Maeve, this is Buffy. Please disregard whatever Xander was going on about. Something, well par-for-the-course for me, is going on here. Rest assured, I’ll get him safely back to you.”

“I figured and I know you will. Hey, did he really call me from Harmony Kendall’s phone?”

“Yes,” Buffy replied on a sigh.

“And, yes, I’m sure she’d be happy to give you an autograph.”

**TBC**


	8. After Party

“Triple Voodoo Anxiety Pils! You remembered!” Xander proclaimed from the sofa in the den when Spike handed him a can of beer.

“Surprised _you_ do,” Spike replied, raising his own can in salute before dropping down beside him.

He had removed his jacket, the finely tailored dress shirt tucked into the narrow waist of his slacks highlighting his lean, muscular frame. Buffy frowned from where she stood in the doorway, her arms crossed at her chest. In a perfect world, they would have returned _alone_ after a fun evening out to divest one another of their dressy attire and…

Instead, he was sharing a beer – and, apparently, a memory of which she had no knowledge – with Xander while Willow and Harmony sat at the kitchen counter reviewing footage from the winery that Will had downloaded from Harm’s phone onto her own laptop. And because there wasn’t enough going on already, Buffy’s phone buzzed in her hand. It was a text from Dawn.

_Giles is using the Council jet! :-o_

_No coach for me, yay!_

_@ Biggin Hill boarding in 5_

_Dep 7 GMT_

_Quick refuel in Canada_

_ETA Paso Robles 11 PDT_

_@ Spike’s noonish_

_See you then! :-)_

Buffy cleared her throat and met Spike’s eyes. Raising her eyebrows, she held the phone out in front of her. He rose from the sofa and crossed the room to read the screen then scratched his head and remarked,

“Bugger, there goes my good scotch.”

He looked up at her again, searching her eyes. “I’m fine,” she mouthed.

Since the earlier fiasco Buffy had sensed Spike stealing glances at her, trying to read her to make sure she was okay. Once they had restored order, the leisurely evening had assumed a fairly typical pace for the life of a slayer, in her experience anyway. Xander had gotten hold of himself, as had the rest of the guests who had obediently, and mostly in awkward silence, boarded shuttle buses back to the resort under the covert surveillance of Becca and Jo, whom Spike had called and who would again spend the night babysitting the Sunnydale High Class of ’99 from a safe distance.

As guests were filing out, Buffy and Willow had observed Crystal doing her best to try to reassure the stunned owners of the winery who had been indoors when all hell had broken loose but had been drawn back outside by the fracas. Taking in her demeanor – her red-rimmed eyes and the way she clasped and unclasped her hands in agitation – they had shared a knowing glance. They had hoped to pull her aside for a discreet chat but Matt had materialized to whisk her away, appearing as unfazed by the turn of events as Crystal appeared rattled.

The caterers had required no reassuring words, theirs being a ‘seen it all before’ business, and had set about efficiently cleaning and packing up by the time the rebooted Scooby Gang had departed for Spike’s. Willow had suggested that Harmony join them since she had recorded most of what had transpired, only stopping when she had been forced to prevent two partygoers from pummeling each other to death.

“Guys!” Willow called out. Buffy turned to enter the kitchen with Spike and Xander hot on her heels.

“I think we may be onto something with Matthew Branch,” the witch stated as the vampire seated next to her nodded in agreement.

“Why, what did you see?” Xander inquired.

“It’s not what we saw, it’s what we didn’t. Look here.”

The trio moved behind the seated women to look at the screen as Willow advanced the recording to the point where Harmony had pointed her phone in the direction of Crystal Jennings Branch. She was standing alone, looking around her with wide, desperate eyes and mouthing what appeared to be her husband’s name.

“The berk’s not there,” Spike observed.

“No, he is not,” Buffy confirmed with a scowl, adding grimly,

“Who the hell _are you_ Matthew Branch and what the hell are you up to?”

* * * *

“I can’t believe these words are coming out of my mouth, and in this order, but we owe Harmony one,” Buffy announced as she padded out of the bathroom in a tank top and pajama bottoms, rubbing lotion into her hands. Taking in Spike’s appearance as he lay stretched out on the bed she stopped, quirking an eyebrow.

“Since when do you wear pajamas?” she asked, gesturing at his basic back t-shirt and drawstring pajama bottoms.

“Since I have people about the house. Don’t wanna forget and give the witch or the whelp an eyeful if I wander downstairs for a mug of blood… learned that lesson the hard way,” he tacked on under his breath.

“Don’t ask,” he replied to her look.

“Not planning to,” she shot back as she unceremoniously plopped onto the bed beside him.

“Told you, Harm’s alright. Just needs to be nudged in the right direction, is all.”

“Some things never change. She was, like, the poster child for peer pressure in high school but she did lose her life fighting the good fight. I guess that’s why I never had the heart to dust her. Well that and the fact that you were such a shit to her.”

“Ah, and there it is,” he sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Knew we’d get _there_ eventually.”

“You’re not going to deny it,” she chided with a sidelong glance.

“No, I am not, but we made our peace years ago when we were working together at Peaches’ evil law firm. Anyway, she’s landed on her feet, hasn’t she? Always does, does Harm.”

“Sure does, staying at some Hollywood big shot’s vacation villa, thank God, because if she was planning to stay at the resort…”

“I’d probably be putting her up here tonight. The idea trouble you, Slayer?” he turned on his side to face her, eyebrow raised.

“Just getting a little crowded, that’s all,” Buffy asserted, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt convinced of the veracity of her own words. “I have no idea what we’re going to do with Dawn and Giles.”

“Me either but we’ll manage. How many people did we squeeze into the house on Revello Drive that last year? Not letting Nibblet out of my sight until we figure this out and deal with it.”

“She is a grown woman, you know.”

“I know, but she’ll always be my Nibblet.”

Warmth shot through her at his words, chased immediately by the flood of regret from earlier in the evening. It must have been written all over her face. Either that or he really could see clear through her, most of the time anyway, which she had suspected for, well, ever. Whatever the reason he was pulling her into an embrace.

“Hey, love, c’mon now. Where did you go?” he whispered against her temple.

“This day has been two months long. This weekend, a year. And it’s not even close to over yet.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, wish you could’ve had a bit of well-earned rest. Maybe once this is over…”

“I’ll have somewhere to be,” she concluded with a frown. Because she did. Always.

“Well, you need to get some sleep now. Tomorrow… which is in fact today, is likely to be every bit as long. Done all we can tonight. Red has a globe full of witches on it and even she’s packed it in for the night. Your watcher will be here in a few hours to shoot me disapproving looks, drink my scotch and lord it over everyone like the self-important git he is. It’ll be just like old times. Well, except that I used to nick his scotch.”

Chuckling softly, she remembered something.

“Xander?”

“Will stand around wasting carbon and taking up too much space,” he replied and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“I mean, what was that about the beer? And what was with his earlier outburst? So, he looked at Harmony’s boobs. It’s not as though she was trying to conceal them. Besides, I’ve known him for over 20 years and I think we’ve made eye contact maybe twice. Maeve has to know this about him and married him anyway so...”

“You don’t know?”

Buffy sighed heavily then sat up, turning to meet Spike’s eyes.

“In keeping with the overall theme of this weekend, let’s just assume that Buffy knows nothing. Total in-the-dark girl here.”

“He left Maeve last year.”

“He what now?”

“Or she kicked him out. Not sure exactly since he wasn’t making much sense when I stumbled upon him, pretty much in the literal sense, in Dogpatch in San Fran. Boy was on a bender.”

“Christ.”

“And the gist I got was that while on said bender he may have done a bit more than ogle… not a lot more because I doubt the spirit was truly willing nor the body able but still, he was a right mess.”

“And you?”

“Made sure he didn’t get himself into any more trouble, helped him sober up, took him for a pre-dawn breakfast and booked him an Uber.”

“That all?”

“Listened a lot. Talked a little. Figured I had something to offer since I had a front row seat the last time he totally bolloxed up his life. Not to mention my century-plus being an evil bastard and the more recent, far more humiliating, history of getting it spectacularly wrong when I _thought_ I was trying to do right.

Stupid sod had gotten it into his head he wasn’t going to measure up to fatherhood, to family life, that he’d be just like old man Harris. So, of course, he reacts by doing exactly the type of thing his old man would do. Humans, I swear. Evil as we may be, there is at least a certain logic to vampire behavior. Well, most of the time, when there isn’t the Slayer around to turn an evil bloke’s head inside out.”

“What can I say, it’s a gift,” Buffy remarked with a smirk then pressed a sweet kiss to his lips before settling back into his embrace.

“I’m glad you were there for him, for them.”

“Yeah, great night that was. Did I mention he threw up on my favorite boots? Brand new, they were. Knew this white hat business would be so hard on my kit, never would’ve signed up.”

Buffy pulled Spike closer, nuzzling into his chest. He hummed contentedly. Sexual creature as he was, she knew what he craved above all else was what she had once so resolutely denied him: closeness, connection, affection. It was what had compelled him even as a lethal, soulless, powerful Aurelian vampire. Belonging. Such a contradiction of darkness and light he was. Had always been. Her mortal enemy. Her reluctant ally. Her perennial pain in the ass. Her dark knight. Her hero. Her lover. Hers. Thoughts of him floating gossamer-like through her mind, she drifted off on her vampire pillow.

* * * * 

Buffy awoke and, despite the darkness in the room providing no hint as to the time, had the sense that she had only been asleep a few hours and that it was still early. The dead quiet confirmed it. No one was up yet, least of all the cool dead weight beneath her. She groped blindly on the bedside table for her phone and, locating it, confirmed that it was just after 6:00 a.m. She checked for messages and texts and was relieved to find nothing new. Hopefully, Dawn and Giles were enjoying some shuteye on the long flight.

She settled back down and curled around the vampire whose bed she was presently sharing but didn’t feel sleepy anymore. She felt restless, a familiar need building inside her. Reaching over to the other bedside table for the remote, she used the light cast by the screen of her phone to make sure to hit the lights not the drapes, softly illuminating the room so she could see him. Resting her chin on his chest she watched as he stirred to consciousness, raising his head as he blinked awake.

“Everything alright, pet?”

“In the larger sense, no. As in right this minute, yes.”

“Something I can do for you then?” he purred, raising her favorite eyebrow.

She nodded solemnly, her chin rubbing his sternum, then slid up his body to draw him into slow, drugging, exploratory kisses. She felt unhurried, delighting in feeling his body ascend into wakefulness.

“God, Buffy, what you do to me,” he gasped against her throat, his cool breath tickling her skin.

“You get the job done yourself,” she whispered with a smile then moved into sitting position astride him.

“Sit up,” she commanded softly. He rose to meet her and leaned in for a kiss but she pressed a hand to his lips.

“This. Off.” She grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up and over his head, casting it aside.

“Remind me to put that back on later,” Spike uttered with a playful gleam in his eye.

“Wouldn’t want to give Harris any ideas.”

_I am not having sex with Spike! But I’m starting to think that you might be._

Buffy giggled at the irony of that long-ago memory then leaned in to recapture his lips.

‘Uh, uh, uh, your turn,” he insisted, tugging at the hem of her tank top. She leaned back and raised her arms to aid his removal of it.

“So bloody gorgeous,” he murmured, ducking his head to latch onto a nipple.

Rising onto her knees to grant him better access she held him close, stroking his hair, the back of his neck, his shoulders as he attended to her breasts. She felt worshipped and safe despite whatever bad was brewing and was determined to draw out this respite for as long as possible. They spent longer than usual in languorous exploration of each other before they couldn’t stand it any longer, a breathless tangle of limbs as they struggled to divest one another of their remaining clothing. That task mercifully completed he pulled her astride him again, sensing that was what she wanted and, of course, being right.

He groaned when she grasped his erection and adjusted herself over it. God, she loved his body, every square inch of it. Technically a dead body, she thought wryly as she sank onto his exquisite cock, it was a paradox that it made her feel so alive. Through the lust in his eyes she caught a glimmer of that _you are adorable_ look and knew the reason. Years ago, maybe it had been in Paris or maybe even that first intense weekend after his resurrection, he had told her that every time he entered her, every single time, her eyes would widen as if in surprise. Like it was the first time. She bit her lip at the realization and knew that Spike knew what she was thinking because he smiled and, Mother of God, that smile and she could feel him twitch inside her. He remained still even as his grip on her hips tightened. Buffy was caught between desperately needing to move and never wanting to move again.

But move she did, slowly rocking then grinding, using her slayer muscles to tease him, the desperate sounds he made fueling her resolve. She rode him expertly, changing the angle and technique whenever either of them got close. Drawing it out, further and further, until they were both out of their minds. Until nothing and no one existed but the two of them, fucking the world and all of its troubles away.

When Buffy, having lost all muscle control, finally collapsed onto Spike they were both reduced to monosyllables.

“That was…” she panted.

“I know,” he concurred.

“We should,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he seconded.

When her heartbeat returned to something approximating a normal rhythm and she could again feel her limbs, Buffy moved off of Spike and onto her back beside him. Her capacity to speak in complete sentences returned as well.

“We should probably head downstairs and put coffee on. Willow and Xander will be up soon.”

“Yeah, and I need to place a grocery order online. You lot are eating me out of house and home. Two days ago, I was a mysterious hero with a dark past living in a cool bachelor pad. Today, I am the old lady who lived in a shoe.”

Chuckling, Buffy turned on her side and propped her head on her elbow, using her other hand to tickle his belly and enjoying the way his muscles tensed under her fingertips.

“Stop that or we’ll never leave this room.”

“Promise?”

**TBC**


	9. Sunnyhell Forever?

“Well this isn’t weird,” Buffy muttered under her breath from what was becoming her favored spot in the doorway to the den.

Seated on the sofa beside Becca, Giles was swiping through family photos on his phone while trading notes on raising a multiracial child in contemporary Britain versus her experiences growing up as a multiracial Millennial in the Midwestern United States. Shortly after his and Dawn’s arrival, Harmony had made a surprise and rather dramatic daytime return in a stretch limo with heavily tinted windows, having been escorted to the door by two comically large male assistants each wielding a comically large umbrella over her petite form. Soon after that the slayers had arrived. Seated on one of the folding chairs Spike had produced from a closet, the undead social media star was now chatting up Jo, who had reluctantly taken the seat beside her and was doing her best to engage politely in the conversation while eyeing her warily.

“Your hair is so cute! I’d love to cut mine but my followers would freak.”

“Thanks. I… I’m sorry but...” Jo cleared her throat and continued, “I’m finding it kind of surreal to be making small talk while every cell in my body is screaming at me to kill you.”

“I know, right? No worries, I don’t take it personally and, besides, you’ll get used to it.”

Buffy smiled wryly at the simple wisdom of Harmony’s words. If someone had pulled her aside the day before she had been called and outlined all the things she would eventually get used to, she would have thought them insane.

“Yeah, I know. I mean, Spike, he’s the best. Angel’s alright too.” Buffy blinked in surprise.

_Say what now?_

“You know my former boss?”

“Four of us worked a job in Santa Barbara last winter. He and Spike are something else, you know, together. Terrifying in a fight. Glad they fight on our side now and that I wasn’t around for the whole _Scourge of Europe_ thing.”

“They are a pretty cool team when they’re not bickering like an old married couple. They still do that?”

“Oh my God, yes,” Jo replied with a chuckle as her demeanor relaxed a bit, a flicker of amusement reaching her usually guarded eyes.

Half of that purportedly dynamic duo came up behind Buffy, giving her waist a fleeting gentle squeeze before announcing to the room,

“Lunch is almost ready. Salad’s done and Harris, Red and Bit are outside fussing with the grill, hopefully to yield something moderately edible.”

“Harmony, you eaten?” he added pointedly.

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

“Nope, not weird at all,” Buffy sighed then turned to face him, nodding toward the kitchen. He nodded once in reply and turned away from her. She followed.

“You didn’t tell me that you and Angel worked a job with Becca and Jo,” she reproached when they entered the kitchen.

“Didn’t come up.” He shrugged. She glared.

“You and I… uh… get together, what, few days every couple years. Lot happens in between, pet. Spent all my time filling you in, there’d hardly be time for…” He wagged his eyebrows. “Filling you in.”

“And, yes, I am fully aware that I am a pig,” he tacked on impishly. She bit into her answering smirk.

“Know what one of my favorite things about you is, pet?”

“No, but I’m afraid you’re going to tell me.”

“That you can shag a bloke nearly in two and still blush like a school girl. Bloody brilliant, it is.”

Buffy moved a step closer to Spike, resting her hand next to his on the counter and hooking her pinky around his. It was such a small gesture but the way he ducked his head, ridiculous lush eyebrows blinking over ridiculous blue eyes, spoke volumes.

With a slight downturn of his lips he offered, “Think I’ve sorted the sleeping arrangements.”

“And?”

“Bed in the master bedroom is plenty big enough for you, Nibblet and Red. Rupert and Harris can take the guest room. I’ll take the couch.”

“Oh, I guess I’d better change the sheets then. I assume you’ve got a spare set or I’ll need to…”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” Spike cut in. “Already done. Not a complete pillock.”

“Still…” Buffy began on a wistful sigh. “Would have been nice to keep our little oasis.” Her body protested the prospect of not being able to touch him, to feel the weight of his body on hers, to curl up on top of him, to pleasingly stretch _around_ him.

Closing the remaining distance between them, Spike leaned in and murmured, “You know, the Slayer could always sneak downstairs in the night for a bit of rough and tumble with a nasty vampire. Won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Which slayer?” she whispered, blinking up at him. “There’s more than one, you know.”

“And _you_ know who I mean when I say _the_ Slayer,” he purred, his voice soft as a caress.

“There’s only _one_ of those in all the world.”

They exchanged a lingering, hungry look interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing loudly. Turning their heads in unison, they found Dawn standing just inside the sliding door to the deck, a plate full of grilled meat in her hands and an entirely too pleased expression on her face.

“Get a room, much?” she joked with a smirk as she moved into the room to set the plate on the counter.

“We _had_ one,” Buffy replied dolefully as she stepped out of Spike’s personal space.

“Moving you and Red in there with the Big Sis,” he added. “You’ll be snug as a bug.”

“If we’re not all sucked into a hell dimension first.”

“That’s my sister,” Dawn remarked rolling her eyes. ”Ever the optimist!”

* * * *

“I didn’t have time for much in the way of research before I left London but I did consult with the Devon Coven on my way to the airport,” Giles announced to the group now assembled in the den over post-lunch coffee and tea.

“The reason I dropped everything to come over here is that something occurred to me at dinner the other night. Something Buffy said earlier stuck with me and, frankly, sent a chill down my spine when the penny dropped. The reading I was able to do on the flight and my brief consultation with Willow today only serves to reinforce my suspicions, which I now feel confident to share. Buffy, I’m afraid you were onto something when you made that comment about your classmates bringing a bit of Hell with them.”

“See, that’s my problem right there, I need to stop being onto something,” Buffy remarked with a frown.

Crossing the room, she took a seat on the arm of sofa next to where Spike was seated beside Willow with Giles taking the far end. Xander was now seated in the chair next to Harmony and both slayers sat cross-legged on the floor while Dawn flanked Giles on the other arm of the sofa.

“We are literally the product of our environment. Anthropologists can determine where a person lived, migration patterns, just by studying the trace elements in a bit of bone,” Willow explained, adding, “The same goes for supernatural energy.”

“So, those who’ve spent significant time on or near the Hellmouth contain trace elements of its residual energy,” Giles continued.

“I really do not like the sound of that,” Xander declared, looking peaked and obviously thinking about Maeve, Anya and Jesse.

Clearly reading her oldest friend's thoughts Willow assured, “Like I was saying yesterday, it’s all a matter of concentrations. Individually, we’re each carrying just a trace. Even taken together it isn’t enough on its own to be significant or harmful without deliberate action.”

“Problem is, some git with a vision, a real passion for destruction, is taking deliberate action,” Spike commented bitterly.

“Unfortunately, it would appear so,” Giles responded. “There has been quite a lot of activity in the global market for magical and cursed artifacts – talismans, ancient religious statuary and the like – all driven by one, high-net-worth, buyer. Anonymous, of course, and there has been plenty of speculation but if our suspicions are correct then we have just identified that individual.”

“Matthew Branch,” Buffy stated.

“What’s he playing at?” Spike asked grimly. Willow’s expression darkened. Giles’s look of unease deepened. Dread coiled in the pit of the Slayer’s stomach.

“We think… I mean we’re not sure... but… well, we’re pretty sure…” Willow hesitated.

“We believe he’s captured and stored up the residual Hellmouth energy then, last night, unleashed and supernaturally harnessed the disappointments, resentments and regrets of the assembled company,” Giles explained.

Willow continued, “Take some old Hellmouth energy, add the inevitable pain and suffering of the human condition, throw in a bit of dark magic… and…”

“Bloody buggering fuck, he means to open a Hellmouth!” Spike growled through a tight jaw.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Giles conceded before taking a fortifying sip of tea.

“Don’t think that’ll do the trick, Watcher. Lemme get the scotch.”

Spike bolted to his feet. He was anxious and when he got anxious he got impatient and when he got impatient he needed to move.

“Righto,” Giles replied with a look equal parts relief and gratitude. “Wouldn’t say no.”

“We’ll be right back,” Buffy announced in a manner that suggested no further assistance would be required or welcome and followed him out of the room.

Spike stood silent, reaching into the cupboard for glasses when she came up behind him and placed a hand between his shoulder blades. As she predicted, his body was coiled in tension.

“Burn up closing a Hellmouth and some tosser wants to reopen for business.”

“We won’t let him.”

“Bloody well right we won’t. If Rupert and Red are on the money then I’ll kill the asshole if I have to. I know your position on killing humans, and if it means I go on with you never forgiving me or maybe not because you stake me afterwards then so be it, but I am not backing down on this, Slayer.”

“Only if I don’t kill him first. But no heroics, ok?”

“Thought you hero types were all about heroics. Seem to recall a girl taking a swan dive to save the world. Can’t promise I’m not gonna die, Buffy.”

“Neither can I but I want you to understand that I don’t expect you to… to think that you’re _expendable._ And, last I checked, you were a _hero type_ too.”

“Nobody’s expendable. Nobody’s jumping, nobody’s burning and nobody’s dying. Also, nobody’s pulling a solo hero routine. We’re going to stop this, we’re going to do it together, and we’re going to do it without leaving anyone behind.”

They turned to find Dawn again observing them, her expression now every bit as serious and resolute as it had previously been playful and amused. Buffy was overcome with a rush of pride and affection for the woman standing in front of her. This was not the kid sister whose ass she once spent so much time saving; this was a competent, confident leader doing what competent, confident leaders do.

“So, no goodbye Piccadilly, so long Leicester bloody Square?” she remarked with a sidelong knowing glance at the vampire standing beside her.

  
“Still have Man U even if I’m off Happy Meals and dog racing…” To her quirked eyebrow he explained, “Got a pamphlet years ago from a nice bird runs a greyhound rescue.”

“Cute, was she?” Buffy needled with a smirk.

“Bloody single-minded she was. Reminded me of you.”

“So,” Dawn interjected. “We get to work, right?”

_Bring it, billionaire jerk off. We’ve scraped worse than you off the soles of our boots. More than once._

“It’s what we do,” Buffy replied setting her jaw then followed her sister out of the kitchen.

**TBC**


	10. The Miseducation of Buffy Summers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title references what would have been one of the big albums of senior year for a graduating class of 1999, Lauryn Hill's "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" which is, in this writer's opinion, as close to a perfect work of art as anyone has come in my lifetime. "Ex-Factor" from that album is the song referenced in the middle of the chapter.

“Are they…?” Buffy inquired, swallowing hard as she surveyed the lifeless bodies that Spike, Becca and Jo had discovered lined up in neat rows on the floor of a maintenance building in a quiet, remote section of the resort.

“Just unconscious. Very unconscious. But their hearts are beating normally,” Spike answered, reminding her of something she’d known for decades – sometimes it was damned convenient for a slayer to have a vampire as an ally.

“Ok, but if the staff is _here_ …”

“Then who, or more likely _what_ , is walking around impersonating these poor sods?”

“And why keep them alive?”

“Dunno, fresh food maybe? To feed the doppelgangers or whatever nasties the rich twat is planning to summon via the Hellmouth?”

“Ugh,” Buffy muttered casting her eyes heavenward.

“You asked, Slayer.”

“I know but I don’t have to like the answer.” She sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Like the two days preceding it, this day had been three years long. Longer. Longest day so far. Giles, Dawn, Xander and Willow had concentrated on research. More transatlantic phone calls. A phone consultation with Tom Budka, whose grave demeanor had telegraphed that he agreed with the theory proposed by Giles and Willow without his explicitly saying so.

A lightbulb going on, Jo had excitedly recalled her father once mentioning in passing that the lodge had changed hands well over a year earlier while she was out of town for an extended period. A brief item in the business section of a local newspaper had confirmed it and, after a few hours digging in public (and not so public) records, they were able to ascertain that the buyer of record had in fact been a straw buyer. After peeling away LLCs and holding companies like the skin of an onion, they had rather anticlimactically found Matthew Branch at its stinking core. His wife’s role in it all was not clear but, regardless, this was no half-baked scheme; it had been in the works for some time.

Meanwhile, the slayer and vampire contingent had focused on a plan of action. Giles and Dawn would remain at home base, aka Spike’s, prepared to sound the alarm far and wide if things went south at the lodge. Harmony would join the Scoobies for the final evening event of the weekend – a casual, luau-themed barbeque at the resort – while her limo, its trunk filled with weapons and one row of seats with her hired muscle, would remain parked nearby in case any or all were needed.

As soon as the sun was low enough in the sky for Spike to safely leave the house, he and the local slayers had departed to sneak onto lodge property for covert reconnaissance of the non-public areas. It was during this recon that they’d stumbled upon the creepily comatose resort staff. Spike was able to head Buffy off at the pass with a text that there was something she needed to see so she had sent Xander, Willow and Harmony ahead into the party before surreptitiously following the vampire’s directions to this location.

“Becca called Tom as soon as we discovered this. She and Jo are meeting him at a spot up the road then making the rest of the way back on foot. If he can’t do anything for these people then we may have to get the witch over here. No way we can carry everyone to safety and go unnoticed so we’ve got to get them back up on two feet somehow.”

“I have officially had my fat fill of the Jennings-Branches. I don’t care if they are human, assuming they even are, I am _so_ ready to knock heads.”

“Right, but it’ll have to wait a few minutes until the slayers come back with Tom. Can’t leave this lot now and I’m with you, Buffy, rest of the night. No argument.”

“You won’t get one,” she replied, crossing her arms at her chest as she frowned at the men and women laid out in front of her. Facing the prospect of another Hellmouth there was no one – dead or undead – that Buffy would rather have by her side.

* * * * 

“Everybody limbo!” the DJ exhorted as Buffy and Spike reached the courtyard decked out with Tiki torches, flower garlands, and plastic replicas of Polynesian deities, all further proof as far as she was concerned that evil was afoot. Scanning the room, she quickly located the rest of their party wearing multiple plastic leis and doing their best to blend into the revelry, shooting them an innocent smile and wave to signal them to come over.

“I know I’m going to regret asking this but what did you find?” Xander asked, sipping on a beverage featuring several umbrellas too many.

Just then a young woman bearing a toothpaste commercial smile and an armful of leis approached and chirped, “Welcome! You are now officially lei’d,” as she unceremoniously foisted two over the heads of each of the new arrivals then moved on as abruptly as she’d arrived. Spike arched an eyebrow at Buffy who rolled hers away from him.

“Well, for one thing, I have no idea _what that is_ ,” Buffy replied in a hushed tone as she nodded in the direction of whatever it was that had just accosted them with tacky party favors.

Spike added, “Just saw that bird having a kip in a building clear across the property.”

“A who did what where?” Xander again.

Sighing, Buffy explained, “Spike, Becca and Jo found the entire resort staff unconscious in a maintenance building. Someone or something is impersonating every single member of the staff.”

“Well, it’s not a glamour,” Willow stated with a frown. “Who or whatever she is, she isn’t a human being magically cloaked to look like another human being.”

“And she doesn’t have a pulse,” Harmony, who’d been standing closest to the perky staff person when she’d approached the group, interjected.

“Zombies?” Xander asked.

“Just saw her living, breathing body, remember?” Spike responded.

“To get to the bottom of this we need to go directly to the source of this shit show,” Buffy ground out through a tight jaw. “Any sign of Mr. and Mrs. Hellmouth?”

“Nope, not so far,” Willow replied.

“What do we do? Tear the place apart looking for them?” Xander inquired then took another sip of his drink.

“Pretty sure we’d get a fight from the _staff_ ,” Willow cautioned with air quotes then continued, “and I’m not even sure they are staying here. In fact, I’d bet they’re not. After spending most of the day getting to virtually know him, Matthew Branch seems like the kind of guy who likes to pull the strings from a safe distance.”

“So,” Buffy advised, “we wait and watch. The mortals among us probably shouldn’t consume anything served here, just in case.”

“Now you tell me.” Xander gulped.

“Bugger,” Spike muttered, digging into the pocket of his duster. He extracted his phone and read the screen.

“Tom’s asking for you, Red. Harris, put down that nancy drink and go with her. Harmony, you mind working the room? Sort out who’s got a pulse and who doesn’t?”

“Sure, baby,” she replied with a wink then turned away from them.

“Just you and me, Slayer. How you wanna play it?”

“Keep our eyes peeled for the Hell hosts without drawing too much attention from the staff.”

“Have a dance then?”

“What?” She blinked at him, incredulous.

“You know, move around the floor together in time to the music? Like those people over there? Well not like them… four left feet is what that is.” He winced.

“You want to dance… with me. Here.”

“You sustain a head injury fighting the Matiasma, Slayer? Asked, didn’t I? Was gonna ask the other night but you weren’t in the ballroom and by the time I found you, something had come up. Besides…”

“It’s all we’ve ever done?” she interjected, quirking an eyebrow. His only reply was a wistful smile as he held out his hand to her.

What the hell, she mused. She’d put in the effort this evening even though she was fairly certain it would end in a fight to the death – with what, she couldn’t even begin to fathom. In other words, situation normal. She’d put a lot of thought into her Derek Lam Nightshade print short jumpsuit and Jimmy Choo black wedge sandals, styling her hair in a low, loose ponytail. It was what she’d planned to wear all along to this casual, outdoor event. It was just dumb luck that it wasn’t half bad as fighting attire, the jumpsuit giving her plenty of room to move and the wedges offering more stability than heels, handy as they’d come in the other night.

For his part, Spike had chosen a midnight blue shirt over a black tee and new-looking very black jeans. Tonight, he wore the duster, his battle armor, and continued to turn heads. Back when he was hunting humans it must have been a fish in a barrel situation for him. Heck, she’d long ago admitted to herself that even she had been intrigued all those years ago in the alley behind the Bronze, an immediate spark of “Whoa, who is _that?_ ” despite her Slayer senses screaming _BADBADBAD_.

And now the Big Bad was pulling her gently into his arms, against a body she had grown to know so well first by fighting then in other ways, so many ways, and long before she was mentally prepared to deal with him in any capacity other than mortal enemy at worst, perennial nuisance at best. At the time she could have strangled Willow for the spell that first brought her into close, intimate contact with the vampire now moving her effortlessly around the dance floor, his hand on the bare skin of her back exposed by the cutout of her jumpsuit.

Afterwards she had told her guilt-wracked friend that she was over bad boys and hadn’t enjoyed it at all when, in truth, while the engagement part had felt weird the kissing and touching had most decidedly not. Years later, when she’d thought Spike dead and gone forever and spent long nights torturing herself by reliving every moment that had passed between them, she’d wondered if Willow’s spell had doomed her relationship with Riley before it had even begun. Because in that one fateful day she had learned something that it took her a couple years to admit to even herself but could never unlearn no matter how hard she had tried over the years. Physically anyway, they just fit.

“Penny for your thoughts, love,” he murmured into her ear bringing her back to herself. Only then did the song they were moving to register – from an album she loved even though it always made her sad because she associated it with the loneliest summer of her life, the summer she spent as a brokenhearted teenage runaway struggling to get by in L.A.

_Tell me who I have to be_

_To get some reciprocity_

_See, no one loves you more than me_

_And no one ever will_

_Is this just a silly game?_

_That forces you to act this way?_

_Forces you to scream my name_

_Then pretend that you can’t stay_

_No matter how I think we grow_

_You always seem to let me know_

_It ain’t working It ain’t working_

_And when I try to walk away_

_You’d hurt yourself to make me stay_

_This is crazy, this is crazy_

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the on-the-nose lyrics. Of course, back then, she’d heard an entirely different dysfunctional relationship with a demon in this and all the torchier songs from the seminal album. That was a long time ago.

_Care for me, care for me_

_I know you care for me_

_There for me, there for me_

_Said you’d be there for me_

_Cry for me, cry for me_

_You said you’d die for me_

_Give to me, give to me_

_Why won’t you live for me?_

An image flashed in her mind. Spike standing at the bottom of the stairs in the house on Revello Drive.

_I know that I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man._

Followed immediately by another one. Their clasped hands, engulfed in flames.

_I love you._

_No, you don’t, but thanks for saying it._

She felt that constricting sensation in her chest that had plagued her all weekend, the faintest sting of threatening tears.

_Jesus, get your shit together. We’re here to stop a Hellmouth from opening._

Buffy pulled back to look into his eyes, needing to say something but unsure of what.

“Spike… I…”

She was interrupted by his subtle double-take as his eyes were drawn to something over her shoulder. His lips curling into a sly smile he purred,

“Looky-looky what I found.”

* * * *

“Are you planning to speak or are we going to stay here like this all night?”

Resolute, arms crossed at her chest, Buffy met Crystal’s red-rimmed, tear-stained gaze in the mirror of the same ladies’ room where she had hidden out two nights earlier. When it became clear that Crystal was here on her own, and obviously on the brink of emotional and/or physical collapse, they had decided to act. With Harmony creating a diversion by taking over DJ duties, they had managed to whisk her away from the party to the closest place Buffy could think of for a quiet word. Spike was standing guard outside the door.

“What do you want me to say?” the woman sniffed as she dug aimlessly through her bag.

“I want you to tell me what the fuck your husband is up to.”

“How should I know?”

“Oh, c’mon, I _so_ don’t have time for th…”

She was cut off by the sound of a loud scuffle outside, a large body propelling through the door a moment later causing Crystal to jump back towards Buffy with a startled yelp then grasp her arm tightly. A large form in the shape of a human male wearing a lodge security uniform landed on its back with a sickening thud, sparks emanating from the maze of complex circuitry exposed by a gaping chest wound.

Sauntering through the door after it with a bloodied nose, Spike remarked, “Guess that’s one mystery solved. Robot technology has certainly improved last 20 years.”

Carefully toeing the human-shaped machine at his feet he added, “Strong and fast but also tactical. Might’ve gotten the drop on me if I hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Too bad he’ll never be a real boy.”

“Ugh, of course, I should have guessed,” Buffy sighed, shaking her head.

“Spike, do me a favor,” she requested with a knowing glance. “Check Crystal for a pulse.”

“Right, my pleasure, Slayer.”

Shifting into game face he stalked toward the woman, who backed away from him in terror with her mouth frozen in a silent scream until her back met the wall. Taking his time to deliberately if unnecessarily sniff her neck, he then moved away from her and shifted back to his human visage.

“All-American red-blooded as you are, love.”

“Thank you.”

Turning her attention back to Crystal, Buffy asked, “ _Now_ are you ready to talk?”

The woman responded by sliding down the wall and dissolving into body-shaking sobs. Sharing a long-suffering look with Spike, Buffy dropped her arms to her sides and moved toward her, taking a seat on the floor beside her. The vampire dragged the cyborg in front of the door to effectively pin the door shut then took a seat between sinks on the vanity where he could keep watch on it and the door then grabbed his phone to send a group text to bring everyone up to speed. They were clearly going to be a while. It indeed took Crystal some time to choke out her story but once she started talking, it seemed to have a fortifying effect. By the time she was done she had largely regained her composure.

Her parents’ only child, Elaine Crystal Jennings was affectionately known as “El” to her large, loving extended family and small but tight-knit group of friends in Columbus, Ohio. Quiet and bookish, she never quite got her footing when her immediate family moved to California for her father’s job right before freshman year and never had a social life to speak of in high school. Social interaction for her largely consisted of IM’ing friends and cousins back east every night after finishing her homework and living for the summer months when she would head back east to spend them with her aunt, uncle and their three daughters who were like sisters to her.

Her parents, who sounded like very sensible people, had insisted that she not bother to apply to UC Sunnydale and encouraged her to head back east for college. Soon after El’s graduation, which coincided with the destruction of Sunnydale High, they had very reasonably concluded that Sunnydale was never really going to be for them either and moved back to Columbus. She attended Carnegie-Mellon in Pittsburgh where she met the love of her life, Matthew Branch. He, too, was a bit quiet and unassuming at first but once she got to know him found him to be brilliant, funny, sweet and passionate about what he wanted to do in the world. After a few weeks they were inseparable and deeply committed. He followed her to NYU for her Masters in Creative Writing then, right after their wedding, she followed him back to California, this time to San Jose, for his first tech industry job. By this time Sunnydale no longer existed, its destruction she recalled her parents greeting with a unified _good riddance_ (that part of the narrative elicited a wry smile from Spike).

They settled into the life of busy young professionals, he making a splash in the tech world while she proved adept at marketing. A sellable idea and some venture capital later and he had his own company, which she joined as chief marketing strategist. They not only held their own, they succeeded. They not only succeeded, they prospered beyond her wildest imagining. Just when she thought they could take a step back and, perhaps, focus on starting a family – a kid or two with whom they now had the resources to share the whole world – Matthew began to change.

Despite the professional triumphs, the material gains, he was never satisfied. The more they achieved the less satisfied he became. Nothing was good enough. _They_ weren’t good enough. He insisted that they spend more time at the gym, that she lighten her hair several shades. When that wasn’t enough he suggested the ways in which they could both improve themselves with plastic surgery. Since he wasn’t suggesting that she alone do it, she agreed. If it was important to him then why not? Wasn’t like she was in love with her big-ish nose, her weak-ish chin. Look how far they had come as couple. She trusted him.

Then he announced that he wasn’t Matthew anymore, Matthew was a dork; he was Matt. Soon he was insisting that Elaine sounded like a stodgy old librarian. Her middle name sounded better. Then his moods and interests grew darker. She would see things, books and websites he’d visit, that worried her. If she had gone to high school anywhere else in the world besides Sunnydale, she might have been able to shrug it off as morbid curiosity. But she knew better. As she grew more worried, she withdrew, resigning her position with the company and spending her days trying to figure out where it all went wrong and how to fix it. Maybe once she figured it out she would be able to convince him that things needed to change.

They had always been true partners in life and in business but in the last couple years he had started making deals without her knowledge, including the purchase of the lodge. He went on buying trips but _what_ he was buying wasn’t clear and he made no attempts to clarify. And then there was his growing fascination with the destruction of Sunnydale, an event they had discussed years earlier because they used to discuss everything. But this was different, obsessive. She had suggested that he was exhausted after spending the better part of two decades on full tilt and that he might want to consider a real rest, maybe therapy. Her old friends, real friends, the ones they hadn’t managed to alienate, had suggested that she might want to consider a really good divorce lawyer. Her parents and extended family, and even his family, for whom they barely had time anymore, were just hurt and bewildered. But, unhappy as she was, she wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. Not that she wasn’t capable of life on her own. She knew that she was. What she wasn’t was over the sweet, funny, smart guy she’d fallen in love with. She just wasn’t ready to stop trying to find him, to reach him.

When he suggested the reunion, it confused her because Matt knew full well that El had probably been the second most invisible member of her class, after that girl rumored to have literally turned invisible sophomore year never to be heard from again. Matt had insisted that she have an opportunity to shine, to show them all how far she’d come. Her initial response was that she didn’t really care what they thought of her or whether they knew how far she’d come. Sunnydale had been a four-year stopover in her life that she didn’t look back upon with any particular fondness. Or look back upon much at all, really. Those years had been a means to an end; she had done well enough in high school that she got into a good college, which is where her life truly began.

He responded by growing even more sullen and distant until she finally relented, figuring at the very least it would be a weekend away for the two of them in a spot they loved, having camped on the Central Coast the first few years they lived in California. Besides, she was good at this type of thing. She could plan a hell of a reunion. And she liked the idea of honoring the Class Protector, whom she had admired and thought back on fondly even though they had only really spoken the one time.

_One time… El!_ Buffy slapped her forehead as the memory came rushing back to her.

It was very early Senior year, first or second week maybe, and Buffy hadn’t been able to sleep. She had only recently returned from L.A. and was, along with everyone else in her life, still reeling from the events of the first half of the year. Her first love had been consigned to Hell for eternity (as far as she knew anyway), by her, and every single one of her remaining relationships had been strained by the consequences of that one. Everywhere she turned she was met with a wall of awkward and sleep was no refuge, Angel’s face the moment she sent him to Hell haunting her dreams.

She had given up on sleep before dawn, gotten dressed and, with nothing better to do, had walked to school as the sun rose and taken a seat on the bleachers overlooking a mercifully empty sports field. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t immediately noticed someone standing at the bottom of the bleachers and squinting up at her in the morning sun.

_“Hi,” she offered wanly, still finding everyday encounters a challenge after months of trauma immediately followed by months of alienation and loneliness._

_“Hi, you… you’re Buffy Summers, right?” the girl replied shyly._

_“Yeah, unfortunately.”_

_“Really? I can’t imagine being you and wanting to be anyone else.”_

_“You have no idea. I’m sorry, remind me of your name again?”_

_“Elaine Jennings, but most people call me El, and don’t be embarrassed that you don’t know it. I’m not.” The girl shrugged._

_“Well, it’s nice to meet you, El,” Buffy replied, surprisingly buoyed by simple human interaction and the crumb of normalcy speaking to another teenage girl afforded. A gloriously ordinary teenage girl who wasn’t tainted by any of the abject horror of recent events the way everyone and everything in her life was._

_“I… I’ve never seen you out here before. I sometimes come to read on the bleachers on nice mornings when there isn’t any jock practice and I have the place to myself. Dad drops me off on his way to work.”_

_“Not usually a morning person.” Slayer hours didn’t accommodate early risers. “Couldn’t sleep,” Buffy explained with a shrug._

_“I like it here. It’s peaceful, and on a day like today it looks like nothing bad could ever happen here which, ya know, is pretty funny because bad stuff happens here all the time.”_

_“It sure does,” Buffy agreed with a frown._

_“Mind if I join you? I mean, we don’t need to talk or anything. I brought my book.”_

_She waved the paperback in her hand. Buffy felt a pang of envy at the other girl’s self-possession. She looked like the type of girl Cordelia regularly ate for lunch but she seemed utterly untroubled by her status, or much of anything else, because she already had places to be that weren’t here and didn’t have anything to do with the people here._

_“I don’t own the bleachers. Have a seat.”_

_They sat in companionable silence until the first bell for homeroom when El stuffed her book into her backpack and offered,_

_“Well, only 170-something more first bells and we’re out of Sunnyhell High forever. Maybe you’ll sleep better tonight knowing that. Have a great senior year, Buffy.”_

_“You too. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”_

But, of course, she never did. Buffy never returned to the bleachers because so much happened that year. Angel returned only to leave for good. Spike returned to wreak his own unique brand of havoc then left again, only to return the following year. The Cruciamentum. Faith. The Mayor. Mr. Trick. Prom. Graduation. Well, apparently El had been there for graduation, wielding a pickaxe, and survived because she was pretty awesome.

“I never did make it back to the bleachers,” Buffy stated with a sad smile.

“No, you didn’t because I’m sure you had more important things to do.”

“Getting to know you would have been important, although my friends would probably tell you that, for your sake, it’s a good thing I never did. You already know that where we went to high school wasn’t normal. That who I was, who I still am and what I do, isn’t normal.”

“Everyone in school knew you were some kind of superhero just like everyone in town knew that the place wasn’t right. People just chose not to talk about it most of the time. I mean, my dinnertime conversations with my parents were, in retrospect, a sitcom-worthy exercise in denial and avoidance.”

“God, how I envy you,” Buffy sighed. Even though she wasn’t looking at him she could feel Spike’s eyes on her, studying her in that way he did.

“ _You_ envy _me_?”

“You survived high school. What’s more you survived high school _in Sunnydale_ , and just got on with it. It’s like it didn’t even touch you.”

“I’m pretty sure that my total lack of social life contributed to my survival. Being out in Sunnydale after dark didn’t seem to work out very well for people.”

“True that,” Buffy replied with a chuckle.

“Seems to have circled back around though to catch me on the flip-side, hasn’t it?”

“Not if we can stop it. Will you help us, Crystal?”

“Yes, Buffy, I think I will, and call me El.”

“Cheers to that, pet,” Spike offered from his perch.

**TBC**


	11. Hold the marshmallows

_Sleep is SO not happening._

Buffy frowned up at the ceiling, emitting a weary sigh as she contemplated the fact that she could both be thoroughly exhausted and wide awake at the same time. After chatting amiably with Dawn and Will, the former beside her and the latter on the other side of her sister, each of her bedmates had drifted off for a couple hours of rest before they prepared for yet another showdown with the Big Bad. The sound of Willow’s rhythmic breathing and Dawn’s light snoring (which she would never cop to) converted the frown to a smile. There was something so sweetly familiar about this despite the years and miles that had stretched out between them.

While Buffy had worked hard to maintain a close relationship with her sister, she had not managed to stay in as close contact with the others without whom she never would have survived the Hellmouth. In the case of Xander, their lives had taken divergent paths when, a decade earlier, he’d decided to retire from the monster-of-the-week biz and get a real life. Willow’s power, like Buffy’s calling, had taken her all over the world and, often, halfway around it from wherever Buffy needed to be. Giles and Dawn, both settled in London, which also served as Buffy’s official home base even though she was on the road most of the time, acted as anchors of a sort but it just wasn’t the same as it had been back in Sunnydale. Time passed. Things changed.

Except for the things that hadn’t. There was an ease to this reunion, despite or perhaps because of the inevitable battle against something supremely weird and very bad, that made her feel what she had to admit to herself she hadn’t felt in she couldn’t recall how long. _Belonging._ She loved these people fiercely and was grateful to have people in her life who knew her and her _unique_ history so well. Because it was their history too.

Not that it had always been rainbows and puppies, one major bone of contention having been the vampire in whose home they now all slept and who was currently stretched out on the sofa downstairs. Sacrificing himself – even if that fucking amulet had spit him out again with eternal thanks whoever or whatever had been responsible even if it was the Devil Himself – seemed to have healed that rift. Or maybe it was the passage of time, maybe everyone had just mellowed with age. Even Harmony was proving not only tolerable but legit indispensable this weekend.

In fact, she was currently playing hostess – or more accurately providing a safehouse fortified by her hired muscle, Becca and Jo – for the classmate formerly known as Crystal. After telling them everything she knew, El could not go back to the house the Branches had rented nearby. Matt’s anger after the winery fiasco the evening before had both frightened her and demolished the wall of denial she had carefully constructed. His hasty departure without explanation in the wee hours the morning after had left her in the fragile state in which they had found her at the luau.

From what she had been able to tell them they inferred that bringing a premature end to the spell had thrown a monkey wrench into his plans, forcing him into some kind of punt situation that required a hastily-planned trip out of town. Buffy had found it darkly amusing that he thought they would stand idly by while he opened a portal to Hell to which El explained, “He isn’t used to failing.” Yeah, well, neither was Buffy. She hadn’t made it to 38 in a job that had, until recently, regularly killed girls before their 18th birthday by accepting failure as an option.

Nevertheless, the postponement of the big showdown was gnawing at her. She wanted this _over_. As in _yesterday_. Dawn had been forced to postpone the training conference at the San Francisco office, something that happened frequently enough given the nature of their work and the nature of evil, but it still mucked up Buffy’s schedule for weeks, sometimes months. Xander was anxious because while he hated the idea of abandoning his friends in the middle of a fight, he couldn’t be expected to stay away from him family too much longer. The same was true for Giles, who’d crossed an ocean on a moment’s notice to be here. Which is why it was agreed: as soon as Matthew Branch resurfaced they would confront him and put an end to this.

Technical assistance from Tom Budka meant that, so far, they had not needed to disrupt Council operations any further by calling in reinforcements. He had dispatched local associates to surveil both the Branch rental and the now-evacuated lodge and sound the alarm at the first sign of activity, human or otherwise. Meanwhile, he and a medical colleague also acquainted with both the natural and supernatural were caring for resort staff recovering from the effects of an ancient spell that it had taken Willow some effort, with the assistance of overseas covens, to undo – and only after they had moved the victims to Tom’s facility in transport vehicles he’d picked up military surplus expecting to use, he’d pointed out wryly, to collect demon corpses not live humans.

And that was only after a good old-fashioned street fight, the likes of which tended to make Spike’s day. Even Buffy had to admit that were it not for the specter of the hellbent (in the most literal sense of the word) billionaire, she might herself have described it as fun. After leaving El with Willow and Tom, they had picked up Becca and Jo and the four of them had set about clearing the resort of its hellbot staff. The younger slayers had not failed to impress – each capable on their own but also noticeably accustomed to fighting as a team. They were strong, agile and smart. Recalling them in action, Buffy swelled with pride she didn’t really feel entitled to. They were so much more than their calling; each was a strong, capable young woman in her own right.

Meanwhile, Xander and Harmony had assumed the task of informing the assembled party that the inevitable-Sunnydale-High-imminent-danger portion of the weekend was indeed upon them, instructing everyone to return calmly to their rooms, pack up their belongings and leave or, if they were sensible and had their car keys handy, just skip right to the leave part. The under-reaction of the Sunnyhell alumni, many shrugging in resignation, distinguished them from their plus-ones. The room-by-room search the two conducted afterwards, with Harmony kicking in any doors they found locked and dispatching the odd homicidal robot concierge or housekeeper, yielded not a single living, breathing human a mere 30 minutes after their announcement. Say what you will about people who grew up in Sunnydale: they were expert level at getting the hell out of Dodge.

They had also caught a bit of a break with about a third of the attendees having departed during the day on Sunday. Some had likely always planned to leave that day; others had no doubt slinked away after the spectacles they’d made of themselves the night before; the brightest among them had probably rightly concluded that they’d had enough weird for one lifetime. The fact that the _staff_ had permitted this strongly suggested that Matthew Branch believed he had everything he needed from them and those remaining would simply play the part of horrified spectator to his great triumph. If Buffy had learned anything by now it was that evil pricks – the human ones anyway whether they be elected officials or alienated nerds – were all the same. Too much ego and not enough brains.

Ugh, her racing mind was getting her nowhere, certainly not to the land of nod. They hadn’t gotten to bed until after 2:00; the sun would be up in a couple hours. She could simply lie there until it was or…

_“You know, the Slayer could always sneak downstairs in the night for a bit of rough and tumble with a nasty vampire. Won’t tell if you don’t.”_

With a quick glance at the women sleeping beside her, Buffy carefully slid out of bed then tiptoed to the door. Opening it slowly she slipped into the empty hallway and closed it quickly, quietly behind her then moved stealthily towards the staircase. Rough and tumble was most definitely out of the question with so many people in the house but talking to someone would quiet her racing mind. Who better than the vampire she knew would be waiting for her, the vampire she had always found it bizarrely easy to talk to? Well, as long as the topic was _not_ the two of them.

* * * *

Spike was already half sitting up, propped on his elbows, when Buffy reached the bottom of the stairs. Their eyes met in the flicker of firelight and she stopped for a beat before moving into the room. The moment eerily evoked another, almost exactly 16 years earlier, on their last night together in Sunnydale, which also turned out to be Sunnydale’s last night. And Spike’s, albeit temporarily.

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any of that good wine left?”

“Do, but I’ve got something even better been saving just for you.”

“Do you now?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. He shot her a smile, equal parts sweet and wicked, that could make even the elder stateswoman of vampire slayers totally blank on impending doom. He rose from the sofa and nodded toward the kitchen. She wordlessly followed him. When they entered he produced a lighter from the pocket of his jeans and lit the candle in the center of the kitchen island then moved around it to retrieve something from one of the cupboards. Only then did something occur to her.

“I haven’t seen you smoke once this weekend.”

“Not worth the bother, especially with the price of smokes these days. Promised the owner I wouldn’t in the house and been to California lately? Get less dirty looks if I started eating people again.”

She chuckled as she slid into a seat at the counter. He turned and placed a small box in front of her. Her eyes lit up.

“A la Mère de Famille!” she declared with delight.

_“That_ you manage to pronounce correctly,” he remarked cheekily. She ignored him.

Spike had introduced her to the oldest chocolatier in Paris on her 30th birthday, taking her to the historic boutique on rue du Faubourg Montmarte that William had visited to pick up a gift for his mother while on a trip to France the year before he encountered Dru and everything changed.

Removing the trademark reddish-orange ribbon from the box she said, “You spoil me.”

“Not lately.”

She gazed up at him for an instant then blinked away to ruminate over which perfect piece of chocolate heaven to consume first. Having decided on raspberry ganache she lifted one to her mouth and took a bite, her eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of that perfect snap immediately followed by the exquisite richness of the chocolate.

“Lemme guess, best thing you’ve ever had in your mouth?” She opened her eyes to find him arching the scarred brow at her.

“You don’t forget anything, do you?”

“Like you do?”

He had a point. Something had been lingering at the back of her mind since the day before but there had been so little time for conversation and so much going on. Popping the rest of the chocolate into her mouth, she savored it for a moment then steeled herself and began,

“Would you really have been prepared to… to stake Angel… Angelus… if he’d… you know…”

“Truth? Not if I could help it. At the time, wasn’t feeling particularly disposed to offing a family member. What I was planning, well hoping anyway, was that I’d be able to contain him and contact Red. She’d managed to restore his soul before, hadn’t she, and she was a fraction as powerful then as she is now. Problem is that Angelus was always stronger than me. Not sure I’d have been able to manage it. I’ve beaten Angel in a fight, right and proper. Angelus is a different story.”

“You did a pretty good job when we were trying to stop the Acathla.”

“Wasn’t on my own was I, and you finished the job after I scarpered with Dru.”

They fell into reflective silence at the shared memory. It had been one of the most shattering moments of her life, a defining moment, and Spike had been there. Spike, and only Spike, fighting on her side. Yes, he had left with Dru before the fight had ended but he had done his part. Had it not been for him Giles wouldn’t be asleep upstairs. Maia wouldn’t exist, at least not the Maia that Buffy knew and loved. Heck, she might not have figured out a way to beat Angelus without Spike’s assistance. Perhaps nothing and no one around them would exist. The profound irony was that if Spike hadn’t barreled into her life intent on killing her, she likely wouldn’t have survived her teens.

“Well, you wouldn’t have had to. I wouldn’t have left my mess for anyone else to clean up… not this time. Wouldn’t have let anyone get hurt this time.” A dark shadow crossed her features.

“Hardly _your_ mess, Buffy. Never was. Can’t believe you still don’t get that. _He’s_ the one with the curse, not you. The sod should’ve taken the time to find out the details by a hundred years in, long before he ever set eyes on you. ‘Course that would’ve cut into prime brooding time.”

Spike shrugged then continued, “Still have a hard time picturing you staking first and asking questions later, though. Both know I gave you reason enough before I had a soul.”

He looked pointedly at her and she knew he was thinking about the sin for which he could never quite forgive himself, the act that had propelled him to Africa to fight to the death for his soul. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold his gaze.

“And after. Innocent blood, Slayer. Yet here I stand.”

“We weren’t talking about _you_ , were we?”

Spike cocked his head as only he could, emitting a soft chuff of surprise at her acknowledgement that he existed anywhere outside of the void in her psyche created by Angel, an individual whose significance to her often had nothing to do with his sire’s sire. Had she really never made that clear before?

That familiar ache rose in her chest that she’d been chasing away all weekend. She hastily reached for another chocolate and bit into it, the exquisite combination of bittersweet cocoa and Madagascar vanilla crème flooding her senses. When she looked up again, the hungry look in his eyes as he watched her lips move around the confection ignited a hunger in her that could not be quelled with fancy French chocolates. He was too far away suddenly, the distance excruciating.

“Come here,” she commanded softly.

With demon speed he moved around the island and spun her around in her seat. Pressing himself against her, his mouth descended on hers. She wound her legs around his body, pulling him even more tightly against her.

“You taste like hot chocolate,” he murmured against her lips and all she could do was hum in response.

“Gonna kill that evil berk for ruining our weekend. No time to see to you proper,” he panted against her skin while attending to _that_ spot on her neck with blunt teeth and that oh-so-talented tongue. She gasped into a chuckle.

No mere mortal could reasonably claim that she hadn’t been _seen to_ but this wasn’t about mere mortals. By their standards the weekend could be described as almost chaste. Their MO was to have at one another until their preternaturally strong, agile bodies protested then ignore the protests and have at it again. They had just been getting started on Friday night, consigned to too-brief stolen moments ever since. The enforced denial only served to heighten the intensity of contact – probably not the best idea for a pair who’d once fucked a building down around them. But it couldn’t be helped; she could more easily hold back the tide rolling in a few hundred feet away than fight this… this _thing_ that possessed them whenever they were near one another. Was a time that she could but then she’d watched him burn and, ever since, the capacity to do so was utterly beyond her.

And, yesssss, he was tracing her carotid artery with his tongue, setting off her slayer senses in that way only _he_ had ever done, heightening her arousal. Because there was something _so wrong_ with her and, whatever it was, at that moment she thanked her lucky stars for it.

“I love your tongue,” she moaned. His chest rumbled with wicked laughter that vibrated straight to her already soaked core because, soul be damned, he was built for sin.

“It is rather fond of you too, love.” His voice was deep. And so fucking sexy she couldn’t stand it.

“Fuck me!” she growled.

“As you wish, Slayer,” he murmured before dragging her off the chair.

Coiled around him like a vine she kissed him with fierce intensity that hinted of violence, because with him she could, only breaking contact to take quick gulps of air as he carried her into the den. His fingers dug deliciously into her buttocks to grind her against his gloriously hard cock, the thick denim fabric of his fly increasing the friction in the loveliest way. He sank to the floor in front of the fire and the small corner of her brain still capable of coherent thought registered the wisdom of that move. Wouldn’t do to be on or near furniture in their current state.

_Lucky for the sofa._

They unceremoniously shucked their clothing, articles landing in various corners of the room then Spike froze, hovering above her for a moment, searching Buffy’s eyes. He must have seen desperation mirroring his own because he thrust into her, hard, forcing her to bite her bottom lip to keep from screaming. There was no finesse to this frenzy to be as close to each other as human anatomy would allow. He was hammering into her, driving her into the floor, and she was bucking to meet him. There would be scratches and bruises but, fuck it, they both healed quickly. A distant neuron fired with concern over whether the floor beneath them would hold. She. Did. Not. Care. But it still wasn’t close enough. Lucky for her they weren’t constrained by the limits of human anatomy. Out of her mind with hunger for him she bit down on the meaty part of his shoulder, feeling his face shift against her.

“Taste me,” she hissed, and this time he didn’t bother to check if she was sure or wait for further instruction. He sank his teeth into her neck as he continued to thrust into her, their bodies forming a taught oval of flesh, muscle and bone. Then she was gone, only stars above her and so much pleasure that it felt like flying.

When she came back to herself her first sensation was wetness, everywhere, their commingled bodily fluids pooling where they remained connected, both of them slick with her sweat, his saliva on her neck. The messiness of sex in general, her own perspiration and how wet she would get in particular, used to embarrass her. But not with him, never with him. He never made her feel like her body, and what it was capable of from arousal to completion, was shameful. Quite the opposite, in fact; he reveled in it. Always, even back when the joy he took in worshipping her body had been met with nothing but scorn.

_That might be how you get off but it’s not my style._

_No, it’s your calling. Gave me a run for my money, Slayer._

“What’s going on in that gorgeous noggin of yours?” He was now propped up on his elbows above her, his blue eyes adoring as they searched hers.

“Hope we didn’t wake up the whole house. Never living that down.”

“My bloody house. Well, not technically mine but I’m living here. Don’t need permission to shag my Slayer if she asks.”

“I think it’s the asking part that I’ll never live down.”

“Nothing wrong with a grown woman seeking her pleasure, especially when the partner’s willing. M’nothing if not willing.”

“I had noticed that,” she smiled, brushing his cheek with her thumb.

He leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead then moved off of and out of her body. She stifled a whimper at the loss of connection as she watched him sit up and reach for the blanket folded over the arm of the sofa. Spreading it over them, he sank down onto his back and pulled her half onto him, making himself the pleasingly cool pillow he knew she liked.

“Rest now, Buffy.”

“But what if we oversleep and someone…”

“Won’t oversleep. Now shut those pretty eyes of yours.”

They overslept, of course. Buffy was aware of the sound of footsteps and was just about to bolt upright when she heard a very familiar, very British voice declare,

“Dear lord!”

Fortunately, her head was facing away from the stairway. Unfortunately, it was also resting on the bare chest of a naked vampire. And she, too, was naked. Thank God he’d covered them up before drifting off and that he literally slept the sleep of the dead so that they awoke in more or less the same position. Not that it made the clothing strewn room look any less like a porno set.

“Morning, Rupert.” Spike sounded equal parts groggy and pleased with himself. She jabbed him in the ribs under the blanket.

The reply from across the room was a cross between a man clearing his throat and a man being strangled to death followed by an awkward, “Morning,” a loud thud, a muttered “oh, for the love of,” and the sound of footsteps retreating hastily up the staircase.

Buffy didn’t move for a moment, hoping that if she just stayed perfectly still she’d wake up for real to find it was still dark and that the last minute had been a horrifying yet mildly amusing dream. No such luck.

“He walked into the wall, didn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“You’re not the least bit embarrassed, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Just go ahead and kill me, Vampire.”

“Hey, least we know we didn’t wake them last night or he’d never have come skipping down here.”

“Not helping.”

* * * *

Buffy hesitated outside the door to the guest room contemplating whether slinking quietly away and letting Matthew Branch open another Hellmouth would _really_ be so bad. If leaping into it would close it she was _so ready_ to volunteer if it meant not having to look the closest thing she had to a father figure in the eye after he’d caught her with her flagrante all over Spike’s delicto.

Facing Willow and Dawn’s matching smirks when necessity had dictated that she use the en suite master bath to make herself presentable had been bad enough. She might as well have had ‘Spike pounded me into the floor last night and it was awesome!’ tattooed on her forehead. To say nothing of the fading, but still prominent, bite mark on her neck. And the scratches. And bruises.

She was grateful to Dawn for reminding her of the sleeveless mock turtleneck among the things her sister had previously left at Spike’s for her. She _so_ wasn't prepared to open the door to a lecture from her watcher about the potential dangers of engaging in blood play with a lethal master vampire and, while she knew a turtleneck would be as good as an admission given what he’d witnessed that morning, she also knew he wouldn’t go all Riley Finn on her and invade her personal space to confirm his suspicions. Taking a deep, fortifying breath she knocked. Xander opened the door, looking both embarrassed and amused.

“I think you broke Giles. He hasn’t uttered a word and he’s been polishing his glasses for the last 20 minutes.”

“Go downstairs and help Spike with breakfast.”

She stepped aside to allow Xander to exit the room, which he did with a nod, then stepped into it and closed the door behind her. Taking a seat on Xander’s bed she looked affectionately at her watcher, who was sitting across from her on his own bed and _still_ fiddling with his glasses.

“Are you okay? That was quite a thud you made.”

“Well,” he replied, finally positioning his eyewear back on his face. “That was quite a sight to behold.” She felt her face flush and blinked away from him.

“Which isn’t to… to suggest that I… disapprove. It may have taken some time to fully grasp the nature of your connection with Spike but I do, Buffy. It’s just that, given our mentor/mentee relationship… it’s…”

“Squicky?”

“Well, yes, rather.”

She smiled then offered, “I don’t know if I ever really thanked you.”

“For what?”

“For not slut-shaming me when I literally unleashed a bloodthirsty demon on the world. Particularly when it… cost you… so much. It’s taken years of seeing the crap parents unload on their kids, especially their daughters, for me to really appreciate that. Maia is a lucky kid.”

“And I was lucky to have an amazing young woman in my life to teach me some valuable lessons before she came along.” He stood up and held his arms out to her. She rose and stepped into his embrace.

“I love you, Giles.”

“Love you too, Buffy.”

“Now let’s go stop an evil bastard from opening a Hellmouth.”

“Yes, let’s, shall we?”

**TBC**


	12. It’s been real

_I’m getting too old for this shit._

There had been a few times in recent years that this thought had danced, unironically, in Buffy’s mind. Bruised, bloodied and surrounded by fire in the lodge’s courtyard, an ominously glowing crack in the earth a few feet away expanding by the minute, it was now apropos of everything.

Fighting evil toadies animated by dark magic rather than microchips had posed a significantly greater challenge than they had faced the night before. It had probably been the hardest she’d fought since Sunnydale but she hadn’t fought alone and they had made it this far with no casualties. She and Spike now stood on the opposite end of the courtyard from Matthew Branch with Becca and Jo on either side of them.

“You think you can stop me because you’re the original Slayer? I’ve amassed power and knowledge that you can only dream of. Look…” He gestured at the widening crevasse between them.

“It’s happening, and there’s nothing that you, your fashion-victim vampire fucktoy or those girls on steroids can do about it.”

“Oi, who you calling a fashion victim? This look is timeless!” Spike shot back.

Buffy smirked then replied coolly,

“You’re wrong, because guys like you always are. I am _not_ the _original slayer_ and haven’t even been the _only_ slayer since I was sixteen. This _champion_ will be here 100 years from now to tell the tale of how your sorry ass went down. And long after people are asking ‘Matthew Who?’ the _women_ beside me will be scraping evil idiots like you off the soles of their boots.”

Branch scoffed from where he stood in the circle of ashes of some long-dead evil thing he’d left town to pick up when he’d fallen a tad short on human despair. Several objects were at his feet including the ancient receptacles in which he had stored all the lodge’s supernatural mojo, as well as the pilfered Hellmouth energy and despair of the lifetime disappointments of Buffy’s former classmates.

“Oh, but you _are_ right about _one thing_. _We’re_ not going to stop you, s _he_ is.”

She nodded at the spot behind him where El had appeared. She was flanked by Harmony and Willow, the first there to make sure she’d make it to the courtyard in one piece, the second to see through the plan devised in consultation with Giles, Dawn, and several covens across the globe.

“Hello, Matthew.”

El’s tone was even, resolute. Buffy was impressed. She’d have made one helluva Scooby.

He spun around in his ludicrous dark magic circle and sneered, “Crystal, what are you doing here? I _so_ don’t have time for your bullshit right now.”

The Slayer bristled at his dismissive tone and the unpleasant memory it evoked, glancing at the vampire beside her with whom she shared that memory and rolling her eyes. His lips twitched in response.

“No, Matthew, I believe it is _I_ who is over _your_ bullshit. And it’s Elaine. El for short.”

“C’mon what are you going to… Cryst… El?”

Buffy didn’t dare take her eyes off the back of the literally hellbent billionaire in case the situation headed south, but she assumed that looking into the black eyes of his wife mirroring those of the redhead standing beside her had mercifully shut him up. He turned his head to glance back at her briefly, his eyes betraying equal parts confusion and fear. Her only reply was a told-you-so shrug but then the ground shook beneath their feet and the crack pulled apart to form a narrow chasm.

“Hurry!” Buffy called to Willow.

“Ne transgrediaris!”

Willow pointed at Matthew as she shouted the Latin phrase then El ran full speed at him. Buffy regretted that she was missing the expression on his face when he realized that he was pinned to the spot. El was on him in an instant, slapping her left hand to his forehead. An agonizing scream tore from his lips as his head snapped back then bright light burst from his eyes and open mouth. In an instant, the entire courtyard was awash in blinding light.

“What the fuck?!?! Becca yelped and Buffy could feel her hand grasp unseeingly for her shoulder.

  
“It’s okay!” she reassured though not entirely convinced herself, reaching up to give the younger slayer’s hand a fortifying squeeze.

The earth beneath them heaved again, this time violently enough to send Buffy, and she assumed everyone else, tumbling to the ground. Then for what seemed like ever but was probably less than a minute there was only the light, engulfing everything, so pervasive it overwhelmed any other sensory stimuli. It was disorienting. Terrifying. She had no idea whether it was going as planned or if she was on a one-way trip to a hell dimension with exceptionally unflattering lighting. Then it was over.

The first sensation that registered was her cheek resting against cool stone. She raised herself up onto her knees, blinking to adjust to semi-darkness after so much light.

“Well, that was fun. Let’s never do it again. You okay, pet?”

Buffy sat back on her heels and expelled a sigh of relief at the familiar voice and sounds of bodies stirring behind her.

“Define okay,” Jo replied wryly then inquired, “Becca, you good?”

“Ish,” the other slayer muttered under her breath.

Her eyes adjusting to moonlight, Buffy saw Willow standing over a quietly sobbing El rocking the motionless body of her husband in her arms. Her heart broke for the woman she barely knew but whose pain she understood all too well.

Then she felt the soothing cool of his touch, his fingers gently brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. She looked up to see Spike’s moonlit face, so unearthly handsome despite the fact that it was as battered as her own. His smile conveyed both compassion and relief and she couldn’t help but smile back. He offered a hand to help her to her feet. She took it.

* * * *

“We shall _not_ _speak_ of sparkly vampires in this house!” Spike exclaimed to peals of laughter.

“Bloody insulting, it is! Defamatory!”

Dawn snorted, nearly inhaling the bite of pizza she’d just taken, which made Becca laugh even harder. Even Jo looked amused. Giles seemed to be taking it all in amiably but mostly appeared to be enjoying his, or rather Spike’s, single malt scotch.

Spike took another swig from his bottle of beer, having already polished off several of the hot wings they’d ordered along with massive quantities of celebratory pizza from a nearby bar that ingeniously had a wood-fired oven and a kitchen that stayed open late.

“I mean, seriously, in what way are these ‘vampires…’”

Good lord, Spike was making air quotes.

“Menacing? By threatening to _bore_ people to death? I say bollocks to the whole thing. Just glad it’s over.”

“Merciful Zeus, someone brought up a certain vampire franchise in front of Spike. Why did they do that?”

Buffy looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes then turned to face Xander, who had come in through the kitchen.

“Could hear him from outside as I was walking around back. Tom thought you guys might want to take a few things back for the Council’s collection. He says they’re clean but I still felt weird about bringing them inside so I left the lockbox out on the deck.”

She nodded and inquired, “Will with you?”

“No, she stayed at Tom’s with Crystal, I mean El. Helping people cope with the trauma of this type of thing is totally in her wheelhouse. I think it’s her way to atone for… you know.”

Buffy nodded then asked, “Any change?”

Xander shook his head.

“Tom says it’s going to take a battery of tests to determine brain function but Matthew is stable and able to breathe on his own. I guess you could say there’s room for cautious optimism. Very cautious. There’s bound to be brain scramble-age when powerful white magic was used to force out the dark magic infecting his mind. Really gotta hand it to the lady, though, to be able to go through with it even though she knew that she might be killing the man she loved.”

“She’d already lost him. It was loving the man she’d lost that gave her the strength and power for Willow to harness. Thank you for sticking around for a very Buffy reunion weekend, by the way. I know this isn’t your life anymore.”

“No, but it’s yours. And Willow’s. And Dawn’s. And let us not forget Captain Peroxide. Where else am I gonna be?” He shrugged. They both smiled.

“If Mum could see me now!” Spike boomed. “Her beloved son, right proper Victorian, running a sodding dosshouse!” It was Giles’s turn to laugh out loud.

Blinking over Buffy’s shoulder, Xander asked, “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

Shaking her head, she replied, “Not usually.”

* * * *

After a few hours of deep, dreamless sleep propelled by her body’s need to heal, Buffy awoke stiff and a little sore but relaxed. The longest Memorial Day Weekend in recorded history was finally over and she was actually _happy_ to wake up on a Tuesday. Smiling, she sat up and gazed upon Dawn’s still-sleeping form then leaned over to kiss her forehead before rising from bed and padding into the bathroom.

When she got downstairs she saw that the couch was Spike-less then heard muffled voices coming from the kitchen. As she approached she heard Willow, who must have only recently returned from spending the night looking after El since she hadn’t made it upstairs yet.

“How are you doing? And I mean _really_.”

“Know what you mean.”

Buffy furrowed her brow. Spike may have known what Willow meant but she didn’t.

“Slayers keep me on the straight and narrow. Helps. S’pose I was never any good at brooding, that’s Peaches’ patch not mine. Just no good on my own. Why do you think I put up with you lot after Dru kicked me to the curb and the bloody Initiative turned me into a pariah? Couldn’t stand the sight of any of you but it was better than being on my own.”

“I thought it was our cutting wit and sparkling personalities,” Buffy interjected as she entered the kitchen.

Willow smiled but Spike’s expression was guarded.

“Will, you must be exhausted. Dawn’s still asleep but there’s a spot in a warm bed with your name on it,” Buffy suggested as Spike handed her a mug of coffee.

“Would _so_ love to but Tom is moving Matthew to a better-equipped facility in L.A. this afternoon and I told El that I would go with. We need to go back to the house they were renting to collect their things first, and to make sure that there was nothing of the evil persuasion left behind to fall into the wrong hands. So, it’s a quick shower and a wardrobe change for me and I’ll be on my way.”

“Call me and let me know how it’s going? How El… how they’re both… doing?”

“Sure. Looks like I’ll be in the state that made me for a while longer than I planned so, depending on what you’ve got going on, maybe we’ll have a chance to get together again and, you know, catch up properly without the threat of impending disaster. Dawnie too.”

“No impending disaster. That sounds great. So not us, but great!”

The women hugged then Willow turned to Spike and with a gentle squeeze to his elbow offered, “Thanks for the cuppa joe this morning and the gracious hospitality all weekend.”

“Anytime, Red,” he replied with a warm smile.

Willow left a contemplative silence in her wake, slayer and vampire each sipping their respective morning beverages. Buffy wanted to ask what he and Will had been dancing around when she entered the kitchen but refrained because there was something larger weighing on her mind.

With a member of the weekend party about to leave there was a valedictory feeling in the air. Xander would no doubt be getting on the road as soon as he was up and dressed. He was looking forward to enjoying the rest of his week off from work with his wife and, he had happily conveyed after speaking with Maeve last night, significantly less snot-encrusted children. Giles would stay on a little longer but he, too, would be heading north to check in with the San Francisco office for a few days before departing for home at the end of the week. Dawn would be getting on with the week she had planned, albeit a day behind schedule. Even Harmony – long may she reign – would be leaving that afternoon for Santorini to attend some celebrity DJ’s dance party set for the following weekend. She’d already said her goodbyes the night before.

All of this pointed to the inevitability of Buffy’s departure, a prospect she was dreading but didn’t have the words, or maybe the guts, to express how much. Instead she reached out to trace the angry gash across his unscarred eyebrow that had already scabbed over and observed,

“Your face looks a lot better.”

“Feels better. Guess I won’t be getting a matching set then. You look better too. Swelling has gone down on that busted lip.”

“You were right. We both needed rest.”

He had insisted that they each retire to their respective sleeping quarters the night before. She had fallen dead asleep before she could even contemplate sneaking downstairs to be near him.

“I just wish…”

She didn’t finish. Didn’t need to. In a perfect world, they’d have had space and time to themselves to hold each other, even if it had only been in sleep.

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” he responded with a wistful smile.

Setting down his mug then taking hers and setting it down, Spike pulled Buffy into a tight embrace. She held him fast, crushing him to her in a way that would probably break his ribs if he were human. They were both still a bit sore from the previous evening but she didn’t care if it hurt a little and knew that he wouldn’t either.

“Watcher needs coffee here!”

“Morning, Bit.”

“I think they sent me down here to make sure you two weren’t having a quickie on the kitchen floor.”

“And what if we were?” Spike joked, raising an eyebrow playfully as Buffy stepped out of his embrace and turned to face her sister, picking up her mug in the process.

“I’d be scarred for life!”

“You’re 33 years old,” Buffy pointed out. “ _And_ you’re the one who conspired to put me within grabbing range of a handsy vampire.”

Dawn shrugged then looked expectantly at said vampire and asked, “You making breakfast or what?”

“Women,” he groused, humor dancing in his eyes.

“I was thinking of maybe driving up with Xander. Then I can stop by to see Maeve and the kids on my way to San Francisco,” Dawn explained as Buffy handed her a mug of coffee.

“I’m not sure I’ll have my shit together in time and I don’t want to hold him up. What about Giles?” Buffy inquired. “I totally spaced on rebooking the flight I had to cancel yesterday.”

Her sister’s face fell. “Oh, um, I think he said something about the pilot filing a flight plan to fly to Hayward this afternoon.”

“Works for me.” Buffy shrugged.

“What’ll it be for the Summers women then?” Spike inquired.

“Actually, I’m not really hungry after all. Still full of pizza and wings, I guess. I should probably finish packing,” Dawn replied, absently setting down the untouched mug of coffee.

“Thanks,” she added then left the kitchen.

Spike shot Buffy an inquisitive look. She shrugged a reply.

* * * *

“Xander’s leaving,” Buffy announced as she entered the bedroom. “Says you’ve decided to stay behind and fly up with us.”

Dawn responded with a distracted nod. Perched on the edge of the bed with what looked to Buffy like a standard-issue Council file portfolio on her lap, she clearly had something on her mind.

“Ok, I’ll bite. You’ve been in a snit all morning. What’s up?” Buffy asked as she took a seat beside her sister.

“We’re both in our 30s,” Dawn began solemnly. “In a few years, you’ll be the age Mom was when she…”

_Oh boy, this can’t be good._

“I know, I think about that sometimes.”

“Do you? Really?” Dawn’s eyes met hers and the intensity of her gaze made Buffy want to look away.

“I didn’t want to do this but the two of you, I swear, I literally cannot decide who I want to pummel more. He was just going to let you skip out again… without… God, you’re _both_ impossible.”

_Ah, so there it is._

“I’m starting to get a headache. If you’re disappointed because you had some romantic notion about how this weekend would…”

“What do you think he does, between your hit and runs?” Dawn interrupted.

“You think he climbs up on a shelf and waits for you to breeze into his life for a few days every year or two?”

“Of course not!” Buffy protested, unwilling to even dignify the ‘hit and run’ remark. 

“He obviously has a life here. Anyone can see that. Relationships. Associations. Becca, Jo, Tom. Even Angel occasionally.”

Her sister chuckled bitterly.

“What?!?!”

Dawn reached into the portfolio and pulled out a photo, handing it to Buffy. Irritated, she glanced briefly at it then at her sister then back at the photo, her eyes lingering this time. Something unpleasantly familiar fluttered in her chest; her mouth went dry compelling her to swallow hard.

Looking up to meet her sister’s eyes again Buffy muttered, “I don’t… understand.”

“Yes, you do,” Dawn asserted with eyes like glittering steel.

“Who… who is she?”

“Her name is Sarah Tobin. Well, it was.”

“Was?”

“She died 15 months ago. In Spike’s arms.”

**TBC**


	13. That fickle finger

Now that she’d read the cold hard facts, Buffy couldn’t tear her eyes from the photo. It was of a group sitting around a long, celebratory table in a candlelit courtyard. Most appeared to be locals but a few were obviously visitors including a painfully familiar handsome vampire and the striking woman leaning into him, her head slightly upturned towards his as they shared a laugh with the group. She had cheekbones that gave his a run for their money and a radiant smile. But it was his smile that hit her like a punch to the gut. It was wide, unguarded, easy and so achingly beautiful that it was somehow both unlike him and more essentially him than anything she had ever seen before.

_“…undead bloke travels the world trying to be the good guy learns a few things… learns there are worse things… a lot worse.”_

_My God, I am an idiot. No, that’s an insult to idiots everywhere. Maybe I should convene the world’s idiots and let them come up with a new word for what I am._

_“His soul. Was lovely when I first saw it but it’s gotten even more beautiful as it’s… I don’t know, matured, I guess. Now more than ever even though… or maybe because… it’s tinged with…”_

_Sarah Tobin, a woman capable of making Spike smile like that._

Buffy wished that the chasm they’d closed the night before would reopen beneath her, swallow her up, and close again.

“Dawn, are you in there, it’s Giles! A word?” he called through the bedroom door after knocking.

“Come in!” Dawn answered.

“Right,” he declared as he entered the room.

“We’ve been given a half-six departure time so we won’t need to leave for the airport until…”

The watcher stopped short when his former charge’s tear-stained eyes met his. She felt him track her gaze to the items in her lap then looked up at him again.

“Oh dear.”

“Oh dear?” she repeated, a harsh sound approximating a laugh escaping her throat.

Shaking his head as he approached, Giles took a seat beside her. On a sigh he stated,

“You didn’t know.”

“No, I did not know or I wouldn’t have acted like some fucking cliché of a lonely, pathetic, sex-starved, middle-aged woman.”

“I very much doubt that Spike sees it, sees you, that way,” Giles observed.

“I have no idea how he sees it since I am the least perceptive human being on the planet.”

“You’re here because Spike wants you here, Buffy,” Dawn reminded her.

“How long have you known?”

“Since shortly after the unfortunate incident in Cusco. Aguas Calientes wasn’t strictly a Council operation but our personnel were involved so, per protocol, it was documented for the Council record. I believe that Joanne Rienzi took that photo and that she and Spike first became acquainted at that time,” the watcher explained.

Glancing heavenward and shaking her head, Buffy remarked, “Well, that explains the lack of warm and fuzzies I’m feeling from her.”

“I had never met her in person before this weekend so I cannot speak to her general demeanor. But I have no reason to believe that she harbors any ill will towards you,” he offered.

“What else do you know? I mean, besides the ‘just the facts, ma’am’ in the file?”

“Not much, just that Spike and Ms. Tobin had grown… fond of one another over the course of the operation. Willow conveyed as much when I contacted her after I received the dossier. Lima being her current home base, she had learned of the sad business almost immediately after it occurred.”

“You knew. Willow knew. Dawn knew. I’m _sure_ Becca knows. Xander? Am I literally the _only one_ who’s blundered through the weekend in complete ignorance?”

“Neither of us said anything to Xander,” Dawn replied. 

“He is no longer employed by the Council and all records are held strictly confidential, made available to outsiders only by formal request based on need to know,” Giles added.

“Spike may have told him when they met up last year,” her sister tacked on with a shrug.

“Why didn’t anyone pick up the phone and tell _me_?!?!”

“I can only speak for myself,” Giles stated then cleared his throat and continued,

“But I felt that it was up to Spike to share something so deeply personal, that I owed him at least that much after everything he’s done since…”

“You conspired to kill him?” Her tone was bitter but she couldn’t help herself, giving into a petty desire to make someone else feel at least a fraction as low as she felt.

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” he replied with a sardonic smile.

“I didn’t think it was my place either,” Dawn interjected.

“Well, until this morning when it was obvious that the two of you were going to carry on with your ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ routine. Much as I hate this, I couldn’t let you leave without knowing.”

“Harris just left. And then there were four,” Spike announced as he sauntered into the room. Giles had left the bedroom door open when he entered so the vampire’s appearance was unheralded.

Buffy’s head snapped up, her expression stopping him in his tracks. Blinking in confusion and concern, he inquired,

“What’s this then?”

No one replied but then no one needed to. When he caught sight of the photo in Buffy’s trembling hands his expression darkened, his jaw tense and ticking with anger.

“Rupert, you have a lot of fucking nerve,” he ground out in a low, dangerous tone. The watcher contemplated his own shoes but did not correct Spike’s assumption.

“No, he doesn’t,” Dawn asserted, her eyes sparking in defiance.

“Should’ve bloody known,” he replied, shaking his head, then barked,

“Everyone who _isn’t_ the Slayer out! Now!”

Giles and Dawn rose virtually in unison.

“I’ll deal with _you_ later, Missy,” Spike warned, narrowing his eyes at Dawn.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she contended even as she made a wide arc around him to follow Giles out of the room. She pulled the door closed behind them.

* * * *

The tense silence seemed to stretch on forever as Spike paced the room, Buffy sensing his constant movement even if she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She wanted to run, or disappear into the floor, but that would be the easy way out. For her. But after taking everything he had to give, yet again, she couldn’t run. Not this time. Not when he had set aside his grief to be the Spike she’d needed. Again. Just as he had set aside his rage, self-preservation, dignity, and whatever else circumstances had demanded, to be the Spike she had needed back then. Over and over again, until he had literally burned himself out of existence. Only to return for the cycle to begin anew. It was her turn to walk into the fire and if she got burned then so be it.

Buffy took a fortifying breath then forced herself to look up at him and ask,

“Please tell me what happened in Peru.”

“S’all there in the sodding file, I imagine.” He blinked away from her.

“The basic facts, yes. Please tell me what happened _to you_ in Peru.”

He dragged himself towards the bed like a condemned man and uttered,

“Buffy, I didn’t want to…”

“What, burden me?” She laughed bitterly, shaking her head as she went on, “Force me to burn a single calorie giving a shit?”

“Pet…”

“Tell me.”

“Met a girl. Liked the girl. Think she liked me. She died.”

“Oh, she liked you. This…” She again looked into the lovely smiling face of a woman she would never meet and pain shot straight through her heart. She welcomed it. She’d take it. For him.

“This is the face of a woman falling in love. But I got that much from the file, Giles and Dawn. Tell. Me.”

Shaking his head in resignation, he turned and slumped down beside her, dragging a hand across his face before stating, “Don’t know where to begin, really.”

“I believe at the beginning is customary.”

“Right. Well, been in L.A. working with Peaches most of ’17 but the bloom comes off the rose if we stick around each other too long so just after the New Year I scarpered. Heard South America was where the action was. Traveled around a bit until I heard tell of multiple demonic possessions in the town at the foot of Machu Picchu. Aguas Calientes. Bloody weird it was. Sunnyhell weird. Locals were rattled. Was drawing plenty of outside attention too. Jo was in Cusco doing a Spanish language course. Always wanted to, figured being fluent would make her better at her job in a state with a large Spanish-speaking population. Once Becca relocated here she was able to take some time off to do it. She got wind and turned up. That’s when we met.”

“I can just imagine the first time she got a load of you,” Buffy commented wryly.

“Yeah, know you think she doesn’t like you but she just takes a while to warm up. And that’s if you’re a living, breathing human being. Let’s just say she wasn’t initially impressed.”

“And… Sarah?” Saying the woman’s name out loud set off another pang in her chest, as if doing so somehow made the whole thing real.

His eyes drawn to an area in the vicinity of his feet, Spike recounted, “Doing fieldwork to finish her PhD in archaeology. Turns out, and stop me if you’ve heard this one before, the team she was working with had apparently disturbed a uniquely sacred site – I mean the whole area is called the Sacred Valley so what could possibly go wrong – and cheesed off the wrong long-dead Inca.”

“Seriously,” Buffy rolled her eyes. She had well and truly reached the point at which she felt she’d seen or heard it all before.

“Felt responsible and threw herself into the fray. Tried to convince her it wasn’t her fault and that she could get herself killed, to leave it to the professionals. She told me to sod off because of course she did. The day I meet a bird who does what I ask without giving me a hard time I’ll probably dust with shock.”

“I regret to inform you that the kind of _bird_ who’d do what you ask without giving you a hard time isn’t really your type.” He smiled at her then but the smile did not chase away the sadness in his eyes. She nodded for him to continue.

“Tried to keep my distance. Better part of 20 years being a white hat has taught me it’s tough to be with people outside of our world. To get too close. Walk a fine line, not really a good idea to cross. People get hurt. Or worse. But she wasn’t having that either. Kept stepping right over that line, Luna did. Called her that because she always said she preferred moonlight to sunlight, which is really the same thing anyway because the sun illuminates the moon.”

Buffy could feel heat rising in her cheeks, the unpleasant flutter in her chest. She swallowed her jealousy, like he’d swallowed his over the years, and steeled herself for what would come next.

“Thing is, we won the day. What’s more, Luna was bloody brilliant. Safe as houses. Hugs and smiles all around. And I had a problem. A big one. Several, actually.”

“What?”

“Well you, for a start.”

“Oh.”

“And her. She came from a world, a life, that didn’t have anything to do with the dark places I dwell. Smart, talented, educated. Was going places, wasn’t she? Was never gonna work long-term was it but… I’m not a…”

“Short-term guy,” Buffy interjected.

“Not when love is part of the equation, you know it.”

“Know something else?” he continued. “For the first time I really understood why he left.”

“Who?”

Rolling his eyes, he replied, “Angel, you daft bint. Saw the Slayer in you first, the woman second. Think I fell for you in that order too so never occurred to me that you would have anything to do with normal, or even want to. But he fell for the girl and wanted her to have everything the world had to offer, including a bunch of things he could never give her.”

Buffy was too stunned to reply. And, anyway, this wasn’t about her tragic lost love; it was about his.

“Did you tell _her_ any of this?”

“’Course I did. Said she didn’t care about what came after. Life was short, well hers was anyway relative to mine…” The same dark shadow crossed his features that she had seen a few times over the weekend.

“She wanted to tag along with Jo to Cusco to celebrate unmaking the mess she insisted she’d made. And she wanted me there with her. Full stop. So, off to Cusco we went.”

“We had a week and it was…” He looked away from her.

“It’s all right here, Spike.” Buffy waved the photo she still held in her hands, unable to set it aside for some reason. “And it’s ok.”

“She made you happy,” she stated with a sad smile, feeling a cold tear run down her cheek.

He nodded, blinking back tears of his own, then rasped,

“Supposed to be our last night. Jo begged off, some lame excuse, to leave us be. Knew we had to sort out what would come after but it was such a beautiful night, sky full of stars. Luna wanted to show me one last Inca site we hadn’t gotten to so we walked across town. On the way back, she spun around to tell me something she forgot to say earlier. Was a thing she did.”

He smiled so sweetly through tears that Buffy’s heart shattered. Then she grabbed the shards and pulled them back together again. For him. Because how many times had he done that for her?

“Didn’t realize she’d stepped off the curb when she did. Was so fast, love. She was laughing then there was a truck, from out of nowhere. Didn’t even hear it. How could there be a truck? Vampire speed mattered naught. Bloody useless. She was laughing then suddenly the laughter stopped and, at first, I didn’t even understand why she wasn’t laughing anymore. Then a man was jumping out of the truck and screaming. And there was more screaming. And I didn’t even realize that I was the one screaming until I was holding her and feeling her life drain away.”

He was sobbing. She was sobbing. She finally set aside the photo and climbed over his lap. Straddling him she pulled him close and his arms immediately closed around her as his body racked with sobs against hers.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry,” she repeated again and again as she rocked him gently in her arms, stroking his hair.

* * * *

“Don’t know what I’d have done without Jo,” Spike said. He and Buffy were now curled up together on the bed and he was speaking softly, his lips close to her temple as he stroked her hair.

“She handled all the arrangements. Got Luna home to her people. Wouldn’t have known where to begin and, besides, don’t exactly have the legal status to be dealing with the British Consulate, do I? Looked after me. Made sure I was taking care of myself. Was at sixes and sevens, though. No good with nothing to do. Second worst thing to happen to me in 150 years but at least the other time I had Dawn to keep company and nasties to kill.

Was planning to move on anyway when I got word Angelus might be on the loose again and figured I should hot foot it back to L.A.”

_“At the time, wasn’t feeling particularly disposed to offing a family member.”_

Buffy winced. “Oh my God, you’d just been through that and had to deal with my ridiculous magically-induced mid-life crisis. I’m so sorry, Spike.”

“Been over this, haven’t we? You have nothing to apologize for. Besides, pretty sure one has nothing to do with the other save for timing.”

“I honestly do not know why you put up with me. You should have been released on time served a long time ago.”

“You cannot be serious.” He sat up and pinned her red-rimmed eyes with his.

"What have I given you? Besides the occasional ‘hit and run’ as Dawn so charmingly put it earlier?”

“Shut it, you. And listen to me. The man I was born, William, was a tosser. And not because he was a bad poet or bloody useless with women, but because he was afraid. Of everything. All the time. Of taking control of his own sodding life, of putting anything on the line, of taking a chance. He was a hopeless shell of a man.

Then Dru came along and she cleaved him in two, separating the coward from his desires, and it opened up the whole wide world for him. But that was no good either, and not just for the glaringly obvious reasons that only became obvious to me once I had my soul back but because, Peaches is right, vampires do not really belong to anyone and no one belongs to them. Not even his sire, his Princess, his alpha and omega for over 100 years, belonged to him. And, deep down, that didn’t work for him either. He still wasn’t whole.

Then along comes this slip of a girl and, on Mum’s grave, I swear I knew somewhere in the dark recesses that I was buggered the moment I set eyes on her. She confounds me at every bloody turn. Makes my existence bloody impossible. She’s carrying the whole world on her tiny shoulders but she’s so strong and she never gives up. Even when her heart is torn open and bleeding she fights like a goddess. And I’m lost. Got nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. And Dru is spot on for once. She’s sunshine and it burns me up. Makes me new. You knit me up, Buffy. Made me whole. Could and did love before I had my soul, you understand that now, right?”

Buffy nodded and, God damn it, she was going to cry again.

“Know what the soul did? Gave me a choice. To do the right thing just because it is the right thing. To be a champion. To fight alongside Becca and Jo, with you lot this weekend. Even Angel and I have our good days. Who’d have believed it? I can be part of something. Belong. Never had that before. You changed my life, Buffy. A bloody miracle is what you are.”

He kissed the tears from her cheeks then pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “Do you want to stay?” Buffy shook her head against his and he drew back, searching her eyes.

“The question is what do _you_ want?” And it was about damn time she asked.

“Answer hasn’t changed, Slayer,” he murmured against her lips as he drew her into a kiss.

* * * *

Spike followed Buffy down the stairs, both looking like they’d just been dragged through a hell dimension, to find her sister and watcher on the sofa.

“You are officially out of Glenfiddich,” Giles announced, raising his glass.

“You going to bite me now?” Dawn asked.

“Nobody’s biting anyone,” Buffy declared.

“Wouldn’t go _that_ far, Slayer,” Spike teased.

“Ew,” Dawn responded.

“I second that,” Giles added then took another sip from his glass.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy announced, “I hereby tender my resignation to the Council.”

Giles spluttered into his glass, coughing.

“What!?!?” Dawn exclaimed as she reached over to pat his back.

“Come again, Slayer?”

“I said that I would stay, didn’t I?”

“You’re staying!” Dawn squealed, jumping up from the sofa to throw her arms first around her sister then around Spike.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think…” he began over Dawn’s shoulder then surrendered to the hug with a smile.

“This isn’t just about us. Dawn’s ambush made me admit something to myself that I’ve been feeling for a while. I’m rootless and burned out. Going through the motions. I can’t do this anymore. Ironically, I feel like I live more like the Slayer used to live when there was only one than the way every other slayer lives now. It took working alongside Becca and Jo to see that. I’ve never been the most emotionally available person in the world but I feel myself closing off. I can’t allow that to happen. Life is too short.”

“But what if something comes up and we need your unique set of skills and experience?” Giles inquired having recovered from inhaling a mouthful of scotch.

“I can be Buffy Emeritus. There when I’m needed but I just can’t live out of suitcases anymore, cut off from everyone I love. Including you, Giles.”

“Very well,” her watcher conceded with an affectionate smile. “Heaven knows you’ve earned it.”

“How about you, Dawnie, you ok with this?”

“Of course, I know that you’ll be there if we need you. And that you’re always there for me. You have both been separately. Now you can be together. May be time to resurrect that _Spuffy_ portmanteau I tried to get off the ground in the late aughts.”

“No,” the Slayer and the Slayer of Slayers replied in unison.

**TBC**


	14. Turning the page

Standing in the gravel drive, Buffy watched as the car conveying Giles and Dawn to the airport disappeared from view then glanced down at her phone.

_4:45? How the HELL is it only 4:45?!?!_

Had she slipped into an alternate dimension where time worked differently and every day was 100 years long? Had to be it. Nobody’s life completely changes between breakfast and dinner.

_Of course, it does._

Hers had before and over a shorter span of time than that. Happened every day to all kinds of people, even people with lives far less weird and more predictable than hers. Happening that very moment to other people. Everywhere. In good ways. Not so good ways. Horribly awful ways.

_Like a truck coming out of nowhere…_

Maybe she had worn a groove so deep into her life that she had forgotten everything could change in an instant. Leave it to Spike to be the catalyst for change. Again. At least this time he was inside the house instead of a pile of ash at the bottom of a crater.

_Spike is inside the house. That is kind of my house too now._

She turned towards it and suddenly felt… butterflies? Seriously?

_“All I did was hold you, watch you sleep. And it was the best night of my life. So yeah, I’m terrified.”_

“Get in line, Buster,” Buffy muttered under her breath then lumbered to the front door.

Which wouldn’t open. Because it was locked. Because she had not remembered to unlock it before walking Giles and Dawn out. Like Spike had reminded her to. Shoulders slumping, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the door then sighed.

_Not off to the best start._

She could knock and knew that, wherever Spike was in the house, he’d hear because vampire, and vampire acutely attuned to slayers, and vampire especially acutely attuned _this_ slayer, but she really didn’t want to disturb him. He’d had a Tuesday. They both had. Instead she turned towards the path leading to the back of the house.

She was relieved to find the sliding door to the kitchen unlocked. She entered to find Spike standing at the island reading a magazine because, apparently, he read magazines. Had Spike always read magazines? He was also drinking something amber-colored out of a rock glass which meant that while Giles may have drained him of Glenfiddich, he hadn’t killed his entire whisky stock.

“Who’s this strolling into my kitchen?” he remarked with a smile. “Remind me of a bird I used to know.”

“Do I now?” Buffy replied, sliding the door closed behind her so that the vertical blinds would block out the late-afternoon sun as it made its descent over the Pacific Ocean.

“What ever happened to her?” she asked with a wry smile.

“Her? Oh, she turned out brilliant.”

“You sure about that? I’m not,” she responded wearily as she took a seat across from him.

“She’s fine, bit knackered is all. Could do with a rest.”

“True that,” she replied, contemplating her hands where they rested on the countertop.

“Gotta get you a key, Summers. Maybe one of those hidey-key gizmos.”

“Hide-a-key and how did you know I locked myself out?” She met his eyes and he cocked an eyebrow at her.

“If nothing I do surprises you, you’re going to get bored with me pretty fast.” She realized that she was only half-joking.

“Hardly,” he contended as he moved around the island.

“Been surprising me since the first time I laid eyes on you,” he offered as he moved behind her, snaked his arms around her torso, and pulled her into an embrace.

Resting his chin on her shoulder, he commented, “Surprised me today when you told Giles and Dawn to take this job and shove it.”

Buffy sighed into his embrace, allowing her eyes to slip closed. They still felt raw and she had a dull headache from crying earlier. Touching was good. Soothing.

“That was a long time coming. Just didn’t realize it until today.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in response and she felt him falling into her in that way he did. He once told her that he was drowning in her, which she’d taken skeptically at the time to put it mildly, but would come to understand what that meant. He would swim in her, allow himself to be pulled under, again and again. She had never met anyone who surrendered to another so completely as he did.

An image flashed in her mind of him holding Sarah’s, his Luna’s, broken body and her chest constricted. Grief must be torture for someone who loved the way Spike did. How did he do it? How _would_ he do it as he watched the people he loved die? Oh my God, Dawn…

_Which would only happen many, many years from now, peacefully, when she was a very old lady after a long and wonderful life..._

She saw how he loved her sister. Like she was his own. Saw it in the way he was angry with her earlier. Angry the way you could only be at your own. It may have started as an extension of his love for her but, over the years, Dawn’s and Spike’s relationship had deepened independent of her.

Even if, unlike his Luna, they all got to live out long and happy lives he’d have to say goodbye, over and over again, and go on. But she knew he would. His current love would propel him to his next love just as Drusilla had propelled him to her and, she realized, she had propelled him to Sarah. Ever love’s bitch he’d said it himself; he was just no good on his own. Besides, as he had also revealed to her a lifetime ago when they took that first step towards their (inevitable, she had come to accept at some point in the last decade and a half) collision with one another, he got a kick out of this world. He was ridiculously good at living for a dead-ish guy.

_So one of us is living…_

Was he kidding? He was _way_ better at living than she was. Maybe he could teach her a thing or two about living. Now that she was ready to learn.

* * * *

As she luxuriated in the warm, fragrant bath, her body nestled comfortably against his, Buffy reflected on her mother’s, at the time inexplicable, soft spot for him. Had she recognized and been touched by his romantic nature? He was certainly a pro in the romance department. Did it take being around for as long as he had for a guy to master romance? The candlelit bathroom. The delicious-smelling bath salts. More of that yummy wine from the other night. He was pulling out all the stops for their first night together – as in _together_ _together_.

She had been pleasantly surprised when he had suggested a bath after fixing her a simple but delicious pasta for dinner. She hadn’t been expecting this kind of intimacy, not tonight, not after the horror she had compelled him to recount earlier in the day. Now his hands were caressing her slowly, sensually stroking her arms, making delightful circles on her navel, drawing out a languorous arousal in her. When had Spike learned patience? Buffy smiled slyly, thinking of all the times his impulsiveness had gotten the better of him, usually to her advantage.

_But I just got so bored._

“Who looks like the cat who swallowed the canary?” he remarked and she turned her head to meet his playful expression.

“Told you I wouldn’t need a weapon,” she teased, tickling his thigh and enjoying the feel of muscle twitching beneath her fingertips.

“That you did,” he replied wistfully. “And I told you that you didn’t look like the begging type…” He slid his hands up her slick body and cupped her breasts, dragging his thumbs over her nipples causing her breath to hitch.

“Which we both know isn’t strictly the case,” he purred as his expression evolved from playful to wicked.

She spun halfway around, water sloshing around them as she kissed that wicked, goddamned sexy grin off his lips. Their hands skidded across one another’s wet bodies, lingering on spots they each knew would drive the other out of their minds. Until the bathwater started to cool and he hauled them both out of the tub, water cascading off their bodies. They stumbled into the bedroom, their progress hindered by their inability to break contact, leaving puddles in their wake. They were still soaking wet when they hit the bed but neither seemed to notice, or if they noticed, could not care less. Spike ended up seated on the end of the bed with Buffy astride him, staring deeply into his eyes as she lowered herself onto him. The pace slowed once more as they rocked together solemnly, never breaking eye contact. They’d fucked more times than she could count but this time felt reverent, consummatory.

“I love you,” she whispered, saying it out loud for the first time in sixteen years.

“I know you do but thanks for saying it,” he whispered back then smiled into her lips as he pulled her into a kiss, pressing her body even closer to his and his body even deeper into hers.

Later, they lay boneless on the damp, disheveled bed, Buffy propped half-seated against pillows with Spike’s head nestled in the hollow of her pelvis as she toyed with a lock of his hair that had air dried into soft curls.

“We have a lot to talk about,” she said.

“Yeah?” He looked up at her with those midnight blue eyes from what had to be her favorite vantage point. “Used to be my line.” He smiled then settled back into the curve of her body.

“I know, but things are different now, aren’t they? We can’t just rely on _not talking_ to get our point across.”

“In our defense, we are bloody brilliant at _not talking_.” He nipped playfully at her skin, sending tingles to where she figured most women would be all tingled out by now.

She sighed then asked, “Where do we go from here, Spike?”

“Good God, woman, you’re not about to break into song, are you?”

She giggled then replied, “A world of no. But it’s funny you should mention that. Friday morning… God, was that just Friday? I woke up from a dream about… ugh, _that_ fustercluck. What do you think it means?”

“Dream analysis isn’t exactly my thing, pet. My dreams are pretty straightforward. Like dreaming you’ve come to stake me but snog me instead and I go sack of hammers and declare my love for you.”

“When did you dream that?”

“Oh, sometime around the turn of the century, as a prelude to months, years, of pain and humiliation.”

“Get out of here!” she declared, sitting up straighter. “ _That’s_ how you decided you were in love with me? It came to you _in a_ _dream?_ ” Buffy fell back onto the pillows laughing.

“Oh right, take pleasure and amusement in my misfortune. Just for that…”

She felt Spike ease her legs apart and dip his head between them. Soon she was no longer laughing, instead making his earlier point that she was, indeed, the begging type under the right set of circumstances.

* * * *

Spike was sprawled on the sofa watching post-match coverage of Man U vs. one of all the other teams she didn’t know by name when Buffy dropped a stack of typed sheets, binder clipped, onto his chest.

“Finally going to share what you’ve been up to all these weeks, are you?” Eyebrow poised for liftoff.

She shrugged then stated, “I’ll be out on the deck getting some vitamin D. Hazard of shacking up with a vampire – pasty complexion.”

“Into every generation a slayer is born,” he read aloud. “Ooh, I like it! So far, so good, pet!” he called after her. She shook her head and smiled as she left him alone to read.

The sun had dipped low enough on the horizon for him to join her on the deck when she heard the door slide open. She unconsciously scooted forward on the chaise to make room for him to sit behind her. He pulled her against him, enfolding her in his arms.

“Well?”

“Christ, Buffy.”

“That bad, huh?

“What? No… I mean… know how sodding young you were when you were called. Never forget what a babe in the woods you were first time I saw you dancing with the whelp and the teenage witch. Would be easy to because you were always so strong… stood up to the likes of me without batting those pretty eyelashes of yours… but…”

“I was just a girl.”

“You were never _just a girl_ , Buffy, but I can see why you wanted to be. Can see why you told that rich blighter’s wife you envied her.”

“And I haven’t even gotten to Sunnydale yet,” she joked.

“A memoir. And so, she surprises me again,” Spike commented then kissed her temple.

“It occurred to me that I’ve spent the last 15 years training young women how to be slayers. But what about what being a slayer can do to the life of a young woman? The Council has statistics. Actual numbers. The percentage of who’s adapted very well to being called, those who’ve adapted moderately well, and, let’s not forget, those who did not adapt at all.”

“Believe me, I don’t,” Spike interjected, unconsciously rubbing his left wrist with his right hand.

“Besides, there’s this sort of hero worship vibe I get from some of the young slayers, a mythology is taking root around me that is _too weird_. I think I better tell the story before it totally gets away from me.”

“Your story’s far from over, Slayer.”

“I know, but my time as _The Chosen_ is long over. Ought to get that part down before I go all senile Buffy.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re positively _ancient_ … Ow, watch those elbows!”

“Watch that mouth,” she shot back.

“Prefer it when you watch this mouth savor your delectable… Ow! Bugger!”

“I’m trying to be serious here. I want to get it all down. The good, the bad, the…”

“Naughty? Like, say, bringing the house down? Literally?”

“You’re still really proud of that, aren’t you?”

“Till the day I dust.”

“In graphic detail, no. This isn’t a work of kinky erotica. But, yeah, my train wreck of a personal life is a big part of the narrative. Which means I’m going to have to write about…”

“Captain Forehead and the case of the disappearing soul,” he interjected with a world-weary sigh.

“I’m going to have to discuss it with him, get his permission.”

“Peaches will give it freely. Nothing will please him more than having an opportunity to brood over the idea of a bunch of impressionable girls reading about all the nasty things Angelus did back in Sunnydale.”

“Have to discuss it with _everyone_ involved,” Buffy stated pointedly.

“Everyone still alive, that is. Giles, Dawn, Willow, Xander, Faith, Andrew, Vi, Rona, all the survivors of The First, even Riley if I can find him.”

“Ugh.”

“Did you really just ‘ugh’ Riley Finn? Holding a grudge much?”

Stony silence.

“Seriously,” she scoffed.

“ _The point is_ that this is never going to land on the _New York Times Bestseller List_ but I _am_ planning to make it available to everyone affiliated with the organization and to make it part of the permanent Council archives. Any one of them may have a reason to object, obviously some more than others, but I really hope they don’t. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a bloody brilliant idea. But I wouldn’t give up on the _New York Times Bestseller List_ just yet, Summers. Maybe after you’ve finished this one you can write that work of kinky erotica, our greatest hits, names changed to protect the guilty, of course. Put that _50 Shades_ rot to shame.”

Well, he’s not wrong, she thought with a smirk. What she said was, “You’re impossible.”

“What can I tell you, baby…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, what’s for dinner?”

* * * *

A couple weeks later, Buffy was at her laptop in the den when she heard knocking. _Loud_ knocking. She glanced at the upper-right-hand corner of the screen to check the time. It was late. And it was Tuesday.

_Oh boy._

She made her way to the kitchen just in time to hear Spike say, “You’re soaking wet, love.”

“I _had_ noticed that,” Becca replied testily.

“Not raining,” he observed, blinking through the doorway at the bright, moonlit sky.

“Two for two, Spike.”

Buffy pressed her lips together to stifle a smirk then offered, “I’ll get some towels.”

She returned just in time to see Jo step into the house and blinked in surprise as she handed the towels to Becca.

“You’re blue!” Spike announced unnecessarily.

“He’s on a roll tonight,” Becca remarked as she towel-dried her hair. Buffy resisted the urge to quote one of her favorite movies as a kid.

_“You’re turning violet, Violet!”_

“Sorry,” Spike responded scratching his head. “Domestic life must be making me soft in the head.”

“We have a bit of a situation,” Jo explained and, heaven help her, her teeth were stained blue too. “But you probably won’t believe it when you hear it,” she added.

“Oh, I’ll believe it,” Buffy replied. She knew the kind of night they’d had. She’d had countless like it, although the blue thing was a new twist. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was a washable situation, would need to wear off, or required the assistance of Willow.

“We could probably use a hand,” Jo said with a shrug.

“What do you say, Slayer?” Spike inquired, turning to meet her gaze, blues eyes twinkling with mischief. “You in?”

Buffy felt a wide smile unfurl across her lips before she could even formulate a coherent response.

**TBC**


	15. Epilogue: Sun sets and they appear

**December 2019**

**Kensal Green Cemetery**

**West London**

“This is a lovely place,” Buffy observed as they followed the path to the spot circled on the map by the nice man in the office next to the gate.

For someone who had spent as much time in them as she had, she had never quite gotten over the wild beauty of cemeteries over here. She’d been to several over the years but this one was new to her. Fortunately, they were visiting on the Winter Solstice, shortest day of the year, and the grounds were open a full hour past sunset allowing them to visit in non-dusty twilight. Not that a locked gate could keep either one of them out, but it felt right to do this on the level.

“Been open forever. William was here several times,” Spike replied.

To her inquisitive look he explained, “Death was a constant companion to Victorians, love. Present company excluded, it usually stuck.”

With a sad smile she reached for his hand and could feel the chill coming off it even through her leather glove. Not that she minded. If William’s death had stuck then Spike wouldn’t exist and life would be a fraction as interesting. And who knows where she’d be. Or even _if_ she’d be.

“I think this is it,” he announced softly.

The sweet, modest sculpture of two children, a boy and a girl, embracing a lamb inscribed with the name _Tobin_ confirmed that he was correct. They stepped off the path and onto the family plot where generations of Tobins were buried. It occurred to Buffy that William had lived, and died, in the same city as Sarah’s great-great whatever. That he had likely passed this plot on one of his numerous visits when he was among the living. How surreal it must be to be an old vampire.

They passed the older, larger burial plots until they came upon the newer, smaller plots for cremation remains. Even in the waning light they had little trouble locating the shiniest, newest marker. Buffy emitted a small gasp when she read it.

_Sarah Anne Tobin_

_April 10, 1986 – February 25, 2018_

_Beloved Daughter, Sister, Friend & Colleague_

_Scholar, Adventurer, Lover of Life_

_Journey On, Dear Heart_

“Guess I neglected to mention that,” Spike muttered as he bent to lay the flowers he’d brought.

She didn’t reply. Her middle name was common enough, particularly in these parts. Instead she watched silently as he swept his fingers over the inscription. Buffy bowed her head to wordlessly commune with the woman she would only ever know through the lover they shared.

_“Thank you for loving him. For falling in love the normal way. Without ever hating him for loving you. Without ever hating yourself for loving him. For giving him that.”_

“I’m going to leave you, give you some time alone with her. I’ll meet you at the West Gate, the one the guy in the office said stays open until 5:00. Just keep an eye on the time so you don’t end up having to climb the fence.”

He was kneeling now and looked up at her with adoration in his misty eyes then pulled her gloved hand to his lips, kissed it, and responded, “Thank you, love.”

Buffy smiled then turned away from him, striding towards the exit on thoughts of a smart, brave young woman, the same age as her little sister, with a beautiful smile and a taste for adventure. Well, she’d had one alright. It had just ended much too soon. She was approaching the gate when something dragged her out of her musings. Something unpleasantly familiar.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she groaned, reaching inside of her coat.

* * * *

“Swear… to… God… girl… can’t… have… a… mo…ment…with…out…” Buffy hissed through clenched teeth as she stood outside the cemetery gate angrily slapping her unworthy opponent’s remains off of her mostly-wool ensemble.

She’d long ago learned that vampire dust tended to cling to wool but she hadn’t exactly planned on slaying today. In her long coat, blouse, skirt, and boots, she was dressed for Sunday dinner with her sister and her sister’s fiancé, not for fighting a vampire with a mouth that wrote checks his brain couldn’t cash. She looked up to find Spike blinking at her, head cocked slightly to one side. Her shoulders slumped.

“I really didn’t want to, I swear, but some idiot was stoked to have a shot at a slayer. And when did that even become a thing, anyway?”

He raised both eyebrows at her.

“Oh yeah, _you_ made it a thing. Well, could you tell them to stop already?”

“Don’t think I have much street cred left with my own kind, pet,” he replied as he slowly approached her.

He untied and unwound her scarf from her neck, turned to shake it out, then deftly rewound and retied it. Using the knot to pull her toward him, he kissed the tip of her nose and said,

“You’re adorable.”

“I’m sorry, all I wanted to be today was supportive Buffy.”

Pressing his forehead to hers he replied, “And you are, but you’ll always be the Slayer. If you weren’t then we wouldn’t be standing here, would we? What time we meeting Nibblet for dinner?”

“7:30”

“Care to walk for a bit? Can always get a cab further on or hop on the Underground at Royal Oak.”

“Sure.”

They turned down Harrow Road, walking in contemplative silence until Buffy remembered something.

“Forgot to mention, when we get back, El’s having an opening reception thingy for the rehab center. Will’s planning to fly in. Xander and Maeve will be coming down. I’m sure Tom will be there. Becca and Jo are invited.”

“Before or after we move house?” he grumbled.

With a heavenward glance she asserted, “We couldn’t freeload off a rich guy forever, I don’t care what you did for him. And we need more room for guests.”

“Not freeloading, _house sitting_ , Buffy. I was sitting house.”

“Well, _I_ wasn’t sitting anything. Besides, this will be _ours_ and who knew you actually had money to kick in? Like, of your own?”

“Not sure how Peaches’ law firm worked an inheritance back 150 years but they did. All legit-like. Just never felt comfortable with it, you know? That’s why I haven’t touched it all these years. Not how I’m used to getting by.”

“Spike’s always depended on the kindness of strangers,” Buffy retorted fluttering her eyelashes.

“Why Miss Summers, did you just make a cultural reference that predates _90210_?”

“Not a total illiterate.”

“No, you’re right, not total… Ow! Give me that!” he growled playfully, taking the hand that had just jabbed him in the ribs.

“Just no picket fences, Summers.”

  
“I know, bloody dangerous… So, El’s reception?”

“Been to one of her do’s. Not a fan.”

“C’mon, I think it’s great that she’s converted the resort into a recovery facility for people with traumatic brain injuries. That there will be space for loved ones and will take patients regardless of their ability to pay. She was dealt a shitty hand and she’s using her money and connections to do something good. Plus, she’ll be able to work where Matthew can be close by. She’s really something, you know.”

“I know, pet, just don’t relish the idea of wearing a poncy kit twice in a month. Gonna make me break out in a rash.”

“Vampires don’t get rashes.” _Do they?_

“Poncy clothes pinch,” he insisted. She rolled her eyes and changed the subject.

“Oh, and ready for some more good news, Dawn invited Michael to the wedding because she stays friends with _everyone_. Yay, Dawn!”

“Bugger, there’s something to look forward to, a reunion with Captain Cardboard the Second.”

“Can you at least _try_ to be nice? I’m sure he’ll be bringing along his long-legged British thoroughbred wife, mother of his perfect 2.5 children.”

“How does a bloke have .5 children?”

“Ok, so I don’t actually remember how many children he has. I’m sure Dawn knows.”

“Sure that’s not something _you_ want, Buffy? I know we talked about it before but, I mean, if…”

“No-oh,” she replied resolutely.

“I’ll be a kickass aunt, though. Can do all of the fun stuff then give the kids back to Dawn and Danny for the actual rear-age. You’ll be their cool Uncle Spike. As in literally cool, like, maybe they can chew on you when they’re teething?”

“Fancy that,” he remarked with a smirk then added, “Can hardly believe the Little Bit will ring in the New Year a married woman. Where does the time go? Seems like only yesterday we were protecting her from a hellgod.” Buffy laughed.

“She threw it together fast. Wanted a winter wedding because she wanted a long night for the celebration. You know why.”

“I know, and I love the Bit to bits for it. After all, she could’ve had a daytime wedding. Outdoors.” Delivered with a knowing sidelong glance.

“Hey, I was unconsciously sending you a message that I wanted nothing to do with you.”

“Choice of music was enough to do that.”

“Never living that down, am I?”

“Nope. But thank our lucky stars your watcher was home when it all went anticlockwise or we would have…” The eyebrow shot up.

“No, we would not! We were mortal enemies then!” Buffy protested.

Spike shot her a dubious look.

“Ok, we totally would have,” she conceded with a shrug.

“Pretty sure _that_ would have been something a batch of cookies couldn’t fix,” he mused.

“Hell no, that would have been _bad_. _Lips of Spike_ were bad enough.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Slayer, both know you enjoyed the Lips of Spike. Vampire nose, remember?” He tapped his nose for emphasis.

“Ew,” she replied.

“Afterwards might have… ok, probably _would have_ been bad but the act itself would have been a bloody revelation. Two years early. Might have kept you off the original Captain Cardboard, though.”

“Really, Spike?”

“Peaches hated him too.”

“Oh, so that makes it ok.”

“Right boring, he was. So boring he managed to make _you_ boring by association.”

“And he’s long gone.”

“Cheers to that, love.”

“Besides,” she began with a gleam in her eye as she turned to face him.

“When all was said and done, I just couldn’t resist your…”

She put on her most vacantly worshipful expression and kittenish voice then added,

_“Sinister attraction._ ”

She spun away from him and skipped down the stairs to the Tube bearing a shit-eating grin.

“How long have you been holding onto _that one_ , Slayer? Summers! Buffy!” he called after her, hot on her heels.

**FIN**


End file.
